Writer's Block
by PineAppleLint
Summary: Zoe Oltie is a cunning investigator of the FBI who thought she had everything in her warped life figured out. At least, until she was handed the case of the mysterious Mort Rainey. FINISHED!
1. Prying Eyes

Disclaimer: Stephen King is an amazing writer. And anyone he or the director created is not mine.  
  
A/N: After seeing the movie, inspiration overwhelmed me. To write of course, not to eat corn. I hope you all enjoy the story. It will be a short one, probably going to write it in three parts, but who knows where it could go from here? So I'm not promising anything. Read on!  
  
PineAppleLint  
  
* * *  
  
She didn't know where to begin. Sitting outside in her red trashy Honda in the middle of the dirt driveway, she waited. Nervously, she grabbed a piece of Spearmint gum and gnashed it between her back molars, staring at the log cabin before her. The log cabin that was supposed to be the residence of Mort Rainey.  
  
She had heard the small town talk, the gossip, the secrets that no one else was supposed to know but found out anyway. It was believed that Mr. Rainey had four murders under his belt. Getting out the photo she acquired of him, she took one long gaze at it, studying it to the best of her abilities.  
  
He had blonde-streaked brown hair down to his chin, gently brushing against his cheeks. His haunting brown eyes stared wearily back at the camera, and sharp cheekbones graced his face that made his appearance look mysterious and bold. He wore a black ski cap and big brown glasses pushed halfway up his nose. His mouth was half open as if he had been talking when the photo was taken, and she could clearly see braces on his white teeth. A black scarf was wrapped around his neck. Even in his tostled just-rolled-out-of-bed state, he was a handsome man.  
  
Sometimes the handsome ones were the most dangerous of them all.  
  
Just then, the phone rang and she jumped, letting go of Mort's picture and having it fall to the floor of the car near the brake pedal. Hitting the "talk" button, she held it to her ear and said in annoyance, "What?"  
  
"Something wrong, Ms. Oltie?" Timothy asked. He was her boss, the one who had sent her out on this goddamn mission in the first place.  
  
"Tell me why I'm here again in Tashmore County, T?" she questioned, rubbing her green eyes tiredly.  
  
"The local sheriff's office wanted someone to investigate the situation further, gal. So don't give me any shit today. Plus, that division is full of old fogies. Like they're going to put Mort Rainey behind bars. They'd break a hip first." He laughed at his ridiculous comment.  
  
"At least the sun's up," she said with a smile, "Bad things happen in the dark."  
  
"Damn straight," Timothy commented, "Perhaps you can talk to him. Make him uneasy."  
  
"Well right now I'm the uneasy one, boss," she informed him with a smirk, "This place, out here all by it's onesies, it's bound to give you the willies."  
  
"Especially if there's a cold killer on the loose," he added.  
  
"Oh, thanks for making me feel a bit better," she replied dryly.  
  
"You're welcome. Now hurry up, do what needs to be done, and get the hell out of there. Maybe I'll buy you dinner if you get back early, Zoë."  
  
"All right, sounds good. Bye, T."  
  
"See you later, alligator." The phone crackled and the call ended. She sighed and threw her cell phone back in her forest green messenger bag that was littered with loose change, her wallet, feminine products, and candy wrappers. Zoë gathered up her loose brown hair and wiped the sweat from her nape. Her Honda wasn't privileged in the air conditioning category, and that was the reason why she had her window rolled down. The breeze tickled her nose and she sneezed.  
  
Looking down at her Reeboks, she realized the picture was still down near her toes. Bending over, she felt for it in the cramped car, letting out an 'mmpf' as she failed a couple of times in her persistent grabbing. "Come on, you bastard," she muttered and practically whooped for joy when she felt the photo between her fingertips. Straightening in her seat, she placed it on her dashboard and was about to check her appearance in the rearview mirror when she let out a cry of surprise.  
  
Mort Rainey was standing right next to her car door.  
  
"Can I help you?" he asked in a hushed tone.  
  
"Um...I..." shit. Now could she have been caught off guard like that? He sensed her uneasiness and smiled. He motioned towards his own picture on the dashboard.  
  
Where did you get that?" he questioned, still smiling eerily.  
  
"I see you got rid of your braces," she said confidently, smiling wearily back.  
  
"Yup. Just needed to straighten a few things out. Would you...like to come inside? For a soda or something? It's a bit warm outside."  
  
NO, her mind screamed, GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!  
  
"Sure," she said boldly, ignoring her screaming thoughts, "That would be nice. I would also like to ask you a few questions."  
  
He opened the car door for her politely and she got out of the car. He slammed the door shut for her and she thanked him. He was almost TOO polite. He made her feel like a cornered animal.  
  
As an instinct, her fingers touched the cold steel of her gun in its holster. That one touch reassured her more than calm words ever could.  
  
"Who do you work for, Mrs....?"  
  
"It's Miss Oltie. Actually, Agent Oltie of the FBI." She wasn't afraid to tell him. If he was interested enough, he would find out anyway.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Agent Oltie. Now I don't know what you've come down here to find, but..."  
  
"Mr. Rainey, this is just a friendly little visit," she reassured him, lying through her teeth, "Just checking up on you, that's all."  
  
His brown eyes met hers, and it felt weird, almost intimate. "Do you have a badge, Ms. Oltie?"  
  
"That's AGENT Oltie, and yes, I do." She grabbed it out of her pocket and flashed it to him. He took a step closer to examine it. Zoë squirmed, feeling the need to back away or snap her badge shut again, but forced to keep that smile plastered on her face as he studied it. She didn't want him to sense her uneasiness.  
  
Zoë slowly put the badge back in her pocket and followed him up the creaky porch steps. He held the screen door open for her and she slipped inside.  
  
"It's been a long time since I've had a beautiful woman in my house," he said with a grin.  
  
"Oh? And why is that, Mr. Rainey?"  
  
"Call me Mort." He shrugged and added, "People talk. Most people don't trust me."  
  
"And should they have a reason not to trust you, Mr. Rai...I mean, Mort?"  
  
He replied while wiping a few strands of hair behind his ears, "Don't act stupid. I think you know the answer to that question." That answer sent a chill up her spine. Hopefully he didn't notice her shiver.  
  
Mort motioned for her to sit on his messy couch while he walked casually into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open, slam, and then the clinking of glass. She folded her hands in her lap as he reappeared with two glasses of lemonade.  
  
"I hope this will suit your fancy," he commented, handing her a glass.  
  
"Oh, this is just fine, thanks," Zoë nodded. Yeah, like it was an every day occurrence that she had lemonade with psycho murderers.  
  
He sat across from her in the lumpy sofa chair and took a sip of lemonade. Trying to be polite, she did the same, except more cautiously. Who knows what he could have done to the drink?  
  
He stared at her for a moment. It was unwavering, solid, and utterly creepy. It was as if he was counting how many eyelashes she had, or playing connect-the-dots with the freckles gracing her cheeks.  
  
"What?" Zoë asked, tilting her head to the side, "Is there something wrong?"  
  
"You have pretty eyes."  
  
"Thank you." She flushed. Awkward silence ensued.  
  
"So," he said at last, "Wasn't there some questions you had for me?"  
  
"Okay, Mort." She set her glass down on the table and stared back at him. "Let's cut to the chase. What made you do it?"  
  
"Do what, Agent Oltie?" he questioned with a small, innocent smile, "You are going to have to be more detailed."  
  
"Kill those people," she said in exasperation, "Murder them. Four people, am I correct?"  
  
"That's a bold accusation," he said, the smile never wavering. Silence wafted through the air once more, making the atmosphere seem humid and heavy.  
  
She took a big gulp of lemonade and brushed away the bead of sweat that was rolling down her brow. "If that's how you want to play the game, fine. I can't make you tell me anything. But I WILL find out, sooner or later."  
  
"I didn't know a game ever started," he responded in amusement, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "And that sounds like a threat."  
  
"It's not a threat." It's a promise, she wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut. "I'm just doing my job."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Well, is there anything you want to say for yourself?"  
  
He blinked at her. He ran a hand through his messy hair, then sat up from the couch and began to walk up the creaky stairs. Zoë, being relentless, followed him. She found Mr. Rainey typing on his laptop with quick, precise key strokes.  
  
"What are you doing?" Zoë said with a frown, placing her hands on her hips.  
  
He opened a package of Doritos that was sitting on his work desk and began munching thoughtfully. He offered the bag to her but she shook her head in silent refusal.  
  
"You gave me inspiration, Agent Oltie. I've had writer's block for a week straight."  
  
"Well, glad to be some help to you," she commented, on the borderline of having a sarcastic tone. She stood there for a moment or two and just watched his brow furrow as he stared at the screen, his fingers busily flying across the keys.  
  
"If there is nothing left to discuss, I better be going. I have places to be," Zoë said and added, "Thanks for the lemonade," before walking back down the stairs.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Her eye twitched and she put a finger up to try and get it to stop. This day was driving her nuts. She whirled around to find him running down the stairs and stopping right in front of her. Zoë raised her eyebrows in silent question.  
  
"Will you be stopping by again?"  
  
"Why do you ask, Mr. Rainey?"  
  
"You are the first person to stop by in a while who doesn't seem afraid to be alone with me. It's...nice." He chuckled a bit and rubbed at the back of his neck before adding, "And it would be great to see you again. Who knows...you could help me with my new novel."  
  
You could help me with my new novel. Oh, wonderful. The last novel he perfected was about the murder of an ex-wife, and he had done exactly that. Zoë would rather not be a character in one of his books if it entitled her ending up dead and her body at the bottom of the river.  
  
She forced a smile to her face. "You'll probably be seeing me around," she commented truthfully.  
  
Before she could back away, he quickly leaned over and pressed his lips to her cheek. It was over and done with so fast she didn't know what to think. Zoë's eyes widened and she kept that smile on her face, her cheeks straining with the effort.  
  
"Goodbye, Zoë."  
  
She nodded and walked down the porch, her skin crawling from his touch. Even as she got into her car and drove off, she could see him waving to her in her rearview mirror.  
  
Shit.  
  
When she turned onto the main road, she got a napkin out of her bag and with one hand on the steering wheel, she used the other to scrub furiously at her cheek. In most cases, she wouldn't mind at such a display of friendly affection from a handsome man.  
  
But most handsome men weren't crazy novelists that had their ex-wives buried somewhere in the backyard.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well, someone's in a foul mood this evening."  
  
She stormed into her office and threw her bag on her chair. Timothy followed her inside.  
  
"Your cheek's all red. What happened to you? He didn't throw a hissy fit and slap you, did he?" Timothy teased.  
  
"No, the bastard kissed my cheek for your information," she growled, "And I tried to scrub the psycho cooties off."  
  
"He made a move? Damn, Oltie, you sure have a way with men. Must be your KILLER looks. Ha."  
  
She glared at him and muttered, "That's not funny."  
  
"Sorry, sorry, I don't mean to be an ass. So you up to dinner?"  
  
"Yeah, a quick one. I want to go out there again. Perhaps when he's asleep. He seems like the kind of guy that takes lots of naps."  
  
Timothy scratched his head and messed with his tie a little. "I don't know, Oltie. At night? All alone? That doesn't sound like a very good idea, especially if he's taken a liking to you."  
  
"I need to find the bodies, T. We need proof!"  
  
"He's interested in you, Zoë. That isn't a good sign. Go tomorrow morning. He'll surely still be sleeping then."  
  
"All right."  
  
"You're not going to listen to me, are you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Goddammit, you are a pain in the ass."  
  
"It's because I'm hungry and I have killer cooties on my face," she pointed out, "Can we go now?"  
  
* * *  
  
It was near midnight by the time she walked up the stairs to her apartment on the fourth floor. She had taken Timothy's advice to stay put until sunrise, but until then she had work to do.  
  
Grabbing her key from her bag, she jiggled the doorknob a few times and it clicked open. Taking a step forward, something soft squished on the sole of her shoe.  
  
She looked down. It was a daisy. So small, yet so perfect, well, at least it had been until she stepped on it. Someone must have tracked it in. She shook her head and walked inside her apartment, shutting the door and locking it.  
  
Zoë took a quick shower, the warm water slowly washing away the fatigue from her aching muscles. She then wrapped a blue bathrobe around herself and sat at her computer, getting out Mort Rainey's file.  
  
God. He looked so innocent, so normal. Rainey even looked like a writer, a bit frazzled around the edges but mysteriously handsome and full of creativity. Unfortunately he had used those personality pluses for evil purposes.  
  
An innocent citizen, a cop, an ex-wife, the ex-wife's boyfriend. Zoë read over the words once more and shut her eyes tight. What brought this on? Clearly mental instability. Did the divorce trigger such a reaction? Had he been a fucked up nutcase from the start? Who knows? Well, the problem was, was that now it was her job to know. And if she didn't know, she would have to find out.  
  
"Tomorrow," she yawned to herself, "Tomorrow I'm going to kick the shit out of this case." Dropping the file next to her computer, she crossed her arms and laid her head down on them. "Just a couple minutes of resting my eyes and I can start that pesky case report..." Slowly but surely, she drifted off to sleep, unable to keep herself from the dream world.  
  
* * *  
  
It was a dark, rainy afternoon. As much as it sounded like the beginning to some dollar store suspense novel, it was true. The dreary weather did not help improve her already foul mood. There she was, rummaging through the trunk of her Honda for a spare flashlight in the pouring rain. It pelted her, stabbing at her flesh like icy needles, annoying her to no end. But she was on a mission and she needed to get this done in order to finally get some decent sleep at night.  
  
She gripped the yellow plastic flashlight and lightly shut the trunk in order not to disturb Mr. Rainey. The last thing she needed was for him to catch her searching for dead people in his yard. Zoë cursed when the flashlight didn't turn on when she clicked the button. Hitting it against her palm, the bulb burst to life and almost burned out her retinas.  
  
"Damn Satan flashlight," she muttered and held it at her side. Crouching by the side of the house, she walked through the murky mud in her boots and came to the old garden. It was full of dying cornstalks. The brown plants waved limply in the fierce wind like arms motioning for her to get the hell out of there.  
  
So this was where he had raised his corn. She had heard about his obsession from the fidgety locals, and the older woman at the tiny grocery store said that every time Rainey stopped by, there would be butter and salt in his hands at the checkout counter. At least, until recently. It had been two months since Mort bought anything that would have suggested he was feasting on corn on the cob.  
  
Zoë read his book. She had done so a month ago when it had been rumored that she would be handed this case. She had studied his picture on the book jacket and read every page, every word to the last line: He got another ear of corn from the steamy bowl, and knew that in time, her death would be a mystery even to him. Or something like that. Hell, she didn't remember. But she knew that he had been trying to live the life of the main character in Secret Window.  
  
He would have buried a body in the garden. That's what Secret Window said, and she supposed that's what Mort Rainey would do. Unless he knew someone would snoop and destroyed the evidence. For some reason he seemed like the kind of man who danced on his toes and waited in anticipation for someone to call the shots, to tell him how many days he had left until he was a dead man himself. It seemed like he wanted to be caught.  
  
Guilt? Hardly. More like being proud of what he did.  
  
Yeah, he was a sick bastard all right. She gritted her teeth and got down on her knees in the mud amidst the eerie stalks of corn. Even more determined now, she began to sift her fingers through the mud, raking them through as if she would find something important. It was worth a try, but if she so much as touched one old dead body part with her bare hands, she was going to barf.  
  
"Come out, come out wherever you are!" she coaxed in a whisper, "Dead bodies, come to mama!"  
  
She was a freaking mud-sicle. It coated her like a second skin. Zoë felt grimy and was an overall unhappy woman. What did she do to deserve digging around in some crazy weirdo's garden? If she didn't find anything, Mort Rainey better fess up or he would have to deal with her shoving her foot up his ass. At least he was occupied at the moment and wouldn't find her sneaking around on his private property.  
  
Well, that's what she thought until she felt a hand on her shoulder.  
  
* * *  
  
Secret Window rocks my socks. Reviews are good! Good times pi.  
  
* * * 


	2. The Hat

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Stephen King's characters. Or Johnny Depp. Dang.  
  
A/N: Thanks to all you groovy readers for reviewing! I just wanted to give a pat on the back for all of you who caught my mistake in the first chapter (it's fixed now, because story mistakes drive me crazy). Tom Greenleaf was indeed not a sheriff like I said he was, but just an innocent citizen of Tashmore County. Gold stars for all of you who caught that! And to answer the other question, Mort knew her full name, Zoë Oltie, because he read all of it on her badge. He's a sneaky bastard, isn't he? But that's why we love him so. Onward to the next chapter then! Enjoy it immensely!  
  
PineAppleLint  
  
* * *  
  
Well, that's what she thought until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Zoë let out a muffled cry and turned around so fast, she lost her balance and fell into the muddy garden. She smirked when she realized it had been no hand touching her shoulder, just a brittle cornstalk stem rubbing up against her.  
  
"I must be going out of my mind," she said softly, rubbing at her forehead as if to rid herself of the uneasiness floating through her mind. Zoë winced when she spotted the flashlight stuck in the mud two feet away. It had flown from her numb hand in the midst of her spastic fall. She made a grab for it and sighed. The batteries were dead. She shook it, but it was no use.  
  
"Stupid Walmart," she hissed, "Stupid on-sale flashlights!"  
  
"Do you need some batteries?"  
  
Zoë froze. She swore under her breath and closed her eyes tight. No, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening...  
  
"Mr. Rainey, what a nice surprise," she replied, turning to face him. He stood there in front of her, his hand casually placed in his faded jean pocket, his glasses spotted with raindrops even though he held a black umbrella over his head.  
  
"Likewise," he said with a grin, "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon, much less digging around in my garden."  
  
"What can I say?" Zoë commented, standing up and rubbing her muddy palms on her own jeans, "I have a deep fascination for gardening."  
  
"Want to come inside?" Mort questioned with arched eyebrows.  
  
"No, I'm good. Really."  
  
"It's no trouble. You're soaking wet. You'll catch something."  
  
"Probably," she responded.  
  
"You're scared shitless, aren't you?" he said. He ran a finger through his goatee stubble, the eerie smile widening as he did so.  
  
"Why would I be afraid of you, Mr. Rainey?" Zoë asked politely, but a certain sharpness accented her voice, "Unless, there was a reason for me to be. Should I be afraid of you, Morton?"  
  
His smile wavered, but his fierce brown eyes never left her face. "Come inside and perhaps I will tell you what you want to know." He turned back to the house and whistled to himself as he made his way back up the porch, leaving her to decide what she wanted to do. To follow, or to get back in that car and hightail it out of there.  
  
Zoë sighed and knew that her decision had already been made.  
  
* * *  
  
She followed him up the stairs reluctantly, staring down at her feet when she found out that looking straight ahead would give her a great view of Mort's ass. It was a nice ass, but it was a shame that it was the personal property of a killer.  
  
"You can pick something out of my closet and change," he informed her, turning back to glance at her when she went up the very last creaky step. Zoë paused, resting a hand on his desk as she stared down at his laptop. The cursor was blinking, and the words typed out on the Microsoft Word screen went a little something like this:  
  
Jake Tomley couldn't hide his secret any longer. He was living a lie as well as living alone. He wanted to change that, to finally free himself from the shackles that weighed him down. This strong feeling had started when he was walking down the aisle of the supermarket one day and he grabbed the last box of his favorite cereal off of the shelf, and when he glanced up, the greenest eyes he had ever seen was staring back at him. Liv Benkins, the new girl in town, had awakened something in him he never knew existed. That he nev-  
  
It ended there so suddenly. He must have heard her making a commotion outside and had abandoned his writing to go investigate.  
  
"Do you like it?" he questioned, walking up to her slowly. His brown sneakers made no sound as he walked.  
  
"Does my opinion matter?" she shrugged, turning to face him, "I'm no writer. But yes, it's very good."  
  
"You're not just saying that to be nice?" he teased, leaning against the desk with her. She stared down at her feet again. A puddle was forming where the rain water dripped off her clothes and pooled at her feet.  
  
"What if I was?" Zoë said with a smile. With a flick of her hand she added, "No, I like it." Besides the fact that his character Liv Benkins reminded her of someone...herself. And that was more than a little creepy.  
  
Mort looked genuinely pleased at her remark. "Come on, I bet you're freezing." He ushered her into his bedroom. She gazed around, at the tiny closed window that was being splattered by the steady downpour of rain, at the unmade bed covered with two old quilts, and the plain oak dresser that had a couple books and some loose change scattered on top of it.  
  
He pulled out a pair of brown pants and a blue button-up long sleeved shirt of his, handing it to her. She hesitantly took them into her arms. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs."  
  
"You don't have to do all this," she said quietly.  
  
"No, I want to." He winked at her and left the room in a hurry before she started to change as if he were too bashful to stick around any longer. He WINKED at her! What the hell was going on here?  
  
Zoë shut the door behind him and took the gun out of the waistband of her jeans and threw it on the bed. After glancing around to soothe her paranoid self, she began to undress quickly, sticking close to her gun the whole time. If he so much as tried to peek at her while she was naked, she'd blow his brains out. But for some reason she didn't think he was so desperate for some action that he would be a peeping Tom. Zoë laughed to herself. For goodness sakes, she was undressing in Mort Rainey's bedroom. It was enough to send the tiny hairs on the back of her neck on end.  
  
Rainey was a skinny man, but the pants were still too big on her. As she buttoned up the soft blue shirt, she opened the closet door once more and searched for a belt. She kneeled on the cool wooden floor and reached for the box hidden under the mess of clothes. It felt forbidden, rooting through his personal things, but she was looking for a belt, right? She peered inside the box and pulled out the first thing that touched her fingers. A hat. It was a black hat with a round rim and was faintly smudged with dust. It looked like it belonged to a dairy farmer or some kind of Quaker. As she ran her fingers over it, she shuddered as a weird sensation settled over her. She was never one for superstitious nonsense, but the hat felt oddly evil.  
  
Zoë grinned and placed it on her head, marveling at her new look in the bathroom mirror. It was a bold fashion statement, she mused, standing there in her underwear, Mort's large blue shirt, and a farmer hat. She wondered why Mort even owned a hat like that one.  
  
"Howdy, m'am," she said in a thick southern drawl, tipping her hat at the mirror, "Well, I'm off to go milk ol' Bess." She snickered at her own foolishness.  
  
There was a knock at the door. "Zoë?" Mort called, "Are you all right? I heard voices."  
  
"I'm fine!" she called back, taking the hat off of her head in a flash, "I'll be down in a minute!"  
  
There was no reply, so he must have headed back downstairs. She pulled on the brown pants and found a black belt. It helped some, but the pants were so baggy she felt swallowed by them. Finally, she cracked open the door and headed downstairs in bare feet, the mysterious hat still between her fingers. Zoë was going to ask him about it.  
  
She found him on the couch, going through a manuscript of his. He was bent over, hovering over it on the coffee table next to the couch, casually biting his nail in thought as his eyes skimmed the white pages.  
  
"Mort?"  
  
He glanced up at her and grew rigid when he spotted the hat she was carrying. She took a seat next to him on the couch and said, "I don't mean to pry, but I found this in your closet, and...wow, it's a funny looking hat. Where did you get it?"  
  
He swallowed hard and Zoë noticed he started to sweat. "Are you okay, Mr. Rainey? I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking these things..."  
  
"No," he said quietly, "It's fine. I found it at a garage sale a couple years back."  
  
"Well how do you look in it?" she joked, "Dashing? Gallant?" She leaned over and attempted to place the hat on his head, but he suddenly jerked and jumped off of the couch, desperately trying to get away from her. She stared up at him, clearly startled.  
  
"No," he said loudly, touching the side of his face, "You can't come back. Get the hell away."  
  
"I'm sorry, I..."  
  
"No, not you, Zoë. Not..." he paused and clenched his teeth together. "Shooter," he mumbled, "We've been through this. I can't...no more..."  
  
"Mort," Zoë demanded, "What's going on?" He bunched his hands in his hair and whimpered. She got up and forced his hands down to his sides. "Shhh, its fine, calm down..." Zoë paused when his gaze met hers.  
  
He whispered, "Run."  
  
Mort reached over, plucked the black hat off of the couch, and placed it on his head. His whole demeanor changed. He stood tall and proud, a cocky smile graced his face, and his eyes became soulless. Now she was truly scared shitless.  
  
"Mort? This isn't funny..." she said with a frown and backed away from him.  
  
"Oh, Mort isn't here right now," he replied in a thick southern accent, "But I'll take care of him, missus. Don't you fret none. He just has a lot of thinkin' to do."  
  
Her gun. Dammit, her gun was still upstairs on the bed. She slowly began to back up towards the stairs. But if she went upstairs, she'd be trapped with no way out of the house...  
  
"Then who are you?" she asked calmly, touching the banister.  
  
"The name's Shooter, m'am," he said with a tip of his hat, "And why, you are a purty lil' morsel. It's a shame you don't stop by more often. Our Mort's been thinkin' about you quite a lot."  
  
"Well, that's nice of him." She took a step backwards and went up a step. He followed her, causing her to grow more anxious. She wanted to just turn around and run as fast as she could, but that might trigger his violent behavior. For now she would have to just take it easy...  
  
"The thing is, pilgrim," 'Shooter' commented, "Is that you've been distractin' him, and I just can't have that." He shook his head violently. "No siree. I done tolds him to leave you alone but he just couldn't resist. Silly Mort, always disobeyin' me. Then I tolds him to get his share o' you then toss you aside. He couldn't have that either, missus. He just couldn't."  
  
"Then, what does Mort want? What do you want...Shooter?"  
  
"Mort needs you, darlin'. He can feel it in his gut and it makes a son o' a bitch like me sick. Now me..." Shooter grinned darkly, "Now Shooter wants to see you gone, honey. One way o' the other."  
  
Zoë turned and ran. She could hear the sound of Mort's sneakers right on her tail, following close behind up the stairs. She tried to shut and lock the door, but he got a hand through the crack and pushed it open. She screamed and dove for her gun, but 'Shooter' knocked her over so she fell head over heels onto the floor. He was on top of her, holding her hands and pressing into her so she could barely breathe.  
  
"Mort," she shouted, "Stop it!"  
  
"I told you, pilgrim," he said emotionlessly, "He ain't here. But I'd be glad to take a message."  
  
"Bastard," she seethed, "You shut the hell up and bring Mort back."  
  
"Quite the big talker, Miz Oltie. Don't get your britches in a bunch, darlin'. I'll take care o' you." She screamed again when he backhanded her, sending her head reeling to the floor. He straddled her hips and let go of her arms. He placed his own hands around her throat and squeezed, grinning down at her all the while. She scratched the side of his face with her nails and he howled.  
  
"You bitch!" he cried, touching the angry red welt starting to form. She bucked, throwing him off and she kicked him in the face with her foot. Zoë quickly stood up on wobbly legs and was about to reach for the gun but Shooter knocked it out of her reach.  
  
"You've got a good weapon, pilgrim," he drawled, "But it's not polite to go around shootin' people, hmm?"  
  
She stood there, as still as death itself, afraid to even breathe.  
  
"You scare too easy, agent," he chuckled, "But I won't hurt you. Well, not yet anyways."  
  
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.  
  
"Nothing, missus. That's why I'm going to do ol' Mort a favor by givin' you a wake up call. I don't trust you. You'll just provide the noose for our hangin' if I don't intervene."  
  
"Why would you think that?" she asked, staring at him.  
  
"You think we don't know what you're doin'?" he laughed, "Catching you in our garden? Askin' those pesky questions? You want to see us locked up for good. Mort even knows that, but he won't listen to what I want. It's what would be good for both of us."  
  
"Fine," Zoë said bravely, holding up her hands in mock defeat, "What do you think will be good for the both of you? My death? You think killing an FBI agent is going to make things all dandy? You'll get the death penalty, Shooter, even if you deserve it already. You can't escape the law."  
  
"You don't know when to keep your mouth shut!" he growled, taking another step closer to her.  
  
"Another step and you're done for," she warned, "Mort? Come on, Mort, I know you're in there some where!" Zoë was starting to sound a little desperate.  
  
"You stupid woman!" 'Shooter' yelled, "I told you, Mort isn't..." he froze. His confident form slouched and he blinked a couple of times. The black hat dropped from his head and rolled across the floor.  
  
"Mort?" Zoë questioned wearily, "Is it you?"  
  
He swayed a little and met her stare. He was trembling, and his voice wavered as he answered, "Zoë? Holy shit..." The accent had vanished.  
  
Mort ran over to her and pulled her into his arms. "Zoë..." he whispered, "Zoë, I'm so sorry..." She was unresponsive to his touch. She had never trusted him, but now that feeling of distrust had multiplied itself a billion times over.  
  
"I need a cigarette," he breathed, laughing shakily before burying his face in her damp brown hair. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him and patted his back in order to provide some kind of comfort.  
  
"Smoking is bad for you," she stated.  
  
"Zoë, I never meant...shit, I..."  
  
"Mort," she said softly, "You have a lot of explaining to do."  
  
"No," he shook his head wildly, "I can't..."  
  
"For fucking sakes," she said angrily, pushing him away from her, "You just threatened me! And you called yourself Shooter!" She took a breath and said, "I want to know what's going on, Mort. There is something psychologically wrong with you."  
  
He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "I know."  
  
"So you won't talk?" she said. Narrowing her eyes at him, she reached for her wet pair of jeans and grabbed her cell phone out of the back pocket. "That's it," she muttered, "I'm calling my boss..."  
  
Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed the phone from her hands and threw it. It smashed against the wall and rained down onto the floor in tiny pieces.  
  
"You asshole!" she cried out. He glanced at her and began to walk downstairs. She gathered up her things, including her clothes and her gun, and followed him down.  
  
"So you won't tell me anything?" she laughed hysterically, "Because that wasn't a bunch of fun upstairs just then, let me tell you. What do you have, a split personality? I have a right to know."  
  
He opened the front door and motioned for her to leave. "Go," he said.  
  
"Why, aren't you the polite one," she commented sarcastically. The rain had slowed up a bit. Zoë grumbled to herself and got out the keys to her car. "I will figure this out, Mort," she added, "Don't think I'm going to drop this case because I'm afraid of you."  
  
"If you were wise, you'd stay as far away from me as you can," he replied harshly.  
  
"Well I just can't do that," she said quietly, "It's my job."  
  
He shook his head, his brown highlighted hair brushing against his face. "You don't understand, Ms. Oltie. I like you a lot. I...enjoy your company. But he doesn't. And I can't risk it. Don't you see? I can't!"  
  
"Then fight it," she urged, "Don't let Shooter, whoever he is, win, do you understand me?"  
  
His eyes filled with remorse as he suddenly grabbed her. He whispered, "Leave..." Before she could stop him, he pressed his lips to hers. It was soft, undemanding, light. He broke away before she could even blink. "...before it's too late."  
  
She ran all the way to her car.  
  
* * *  
  
Zoë had changed out of Mort's clothes once she got home. They gave her the willies. She talked to T about what had happened and he was seriously considering reassigning her to another case. She talked him out of it, though, or at least succeeded in letting him give her a couple more days.  
  
Curling up in her bed, she yawned and began to think of this 'Shooter' personality Mort possessed. While talking to Mort when he was like that, it was like she was talking to a totally different person. He needed help. Was she just making things worse like he said? Or was he pushing her away simply because she was too close to the truth? She giggled to herself. It was beginning to sound like an X-Files episode.  
  
Pulling out the book "Everybody Drops the Dime", she set it on her bed and ran her fingers through her drying hair. Zoë had taken a shower to calm herself down and to get her in the right mind for some serious thinking. Mort Rainey had kissed her and that little fact was freaking her out beyond belief. Heck, she could handle being threatened, but KISSED? Much less by a murderer? The man who had bodies in his backyard that she was supposed to be digging up? 'Shooter' had told her that Mort thought about her a lot, that he cared. Switching over to another case didn't sound so bad after all, but she was never one to quit.  
  
The night had calmed, the rain had disappeared. Wind streamed in through her opened window and she heard a fluttering noise. Looking up, she saw the pages of the book at the end of her bed flutter in the wind. She reached over and grabbed it, glancing at what page it had opened to.  
  
Zoë blinked a couple times. Forget what page. It had opened to the beginning of 'Secret Window'. Maybe there were clues hidden in his short novel, metaphors that really weren't metaphors, similes that whispered secrets about his life, adjectives that described people he really had known. She began reading the first paragraph:  
  
Todd Downey thought that a woman who would steal your love when your love was really all you had was not much of a woman. He therefore decided to kill her. He would do it in the deep corner formed where the house and the barn came together at an extreme angle--he would do it where his wife kept her garden.  
  
Zoë paused and massaged the back of her neck. The woman who stole his love. Todd Downey. Killed her. In the garden. It was all too realistic, too exact to be coincidence. This was Mort Rainey's dark world written plainly out on paper.  
  
And it was up to her to crack the code. Who was John Shooter? Four bodies, four graves. All in the garden? It was her job to find out.  
  
She got up and grabbed a can of coke from the refridgerator, popping the top and taking a hearty swig before settling back down with the book. Yup.  
  
It was going to be a long night.  
  
* * *  
  
Reviews are wonderful things! 


	3. Lying Through Her Teeth

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Stephen King's characters, and his novel is fantastico! (I'm at the part where he finds Tom Greenleaf and the other dude in the car all dead and such) Yum.  
  
Author's Note: Heehee, no offense to Walmart in the last chapter. Suspense rocks my socks. But I'm not wearing any. (le sigh) Next chapter, I say! I've kept you waiting entirely too long for a freaking update!  
  
PineAppleLint  
  
* * *  
  
Zoë awoke in a puddle of her own drool. Damn her and her self control! Couldn't she stay awake for more than five minutes at a time to get some actual work done?  
  
Apparently not.  
  
She furiously rubbed at her eyes, yawned, then stared around for Rainey's book. It was no where to be seen. She checked the floor. Nothing.  
  
"I don't sleep walk," she grumbled aloud, "It should be here somewhere." Zoë checked under her pillows and covers. Letting out a frustrated grunt, she gave up and went to go get herself a glass of water from the fridge.  
  
Clinking a glass onto the counter, she rooted around her pantry for a bottle of spring water and sloshed it into the glass. As she lifted it to her mouth and took a long sip, her gaze drifted towards the window and downwards, where...there was smoke curling out of the sink?  
  
She set the glass down and ran over to find "Everybody Drops the Dime" charred and destroyed. The only way she could tell it had been that book was from the remains of the white cover and half of Mort's author picture in the book jacket. His eyes stared coolly back at her, and that's basically all that was left, everything from his eyes and up.  
  
She...hadn't done that, had she? No, she couldn't. She wouldn't unconsciously light things on fire...  
  
Zoë froze. Was someone in the house? Too many questions. Too many unanswered questions for her taste. Grabbing a knife from the wooden drawer, she held it shakily in a tight grip.  
  
"Who's in here?" she cried out, not knowing if she should expect an answer, "I'm going to call the police!" She almost laughed out loud. Wasn't SHE basically the police? Then an idea grasped her whirling brain. She knew who to call...Timothy.  
  
Grabbing the cordless phone, she hit speed dial. She sat on the counter and looked around with jerky, frightened glances as the phone rang.  
  
And rang.  
  
Finally after the twelfth ring, he picked up.  
  
"Who the fuck is calling at this hour?" Timothy said sleepily, sounding extremely pissed.  
  
"Timothy," she whispered, "It's me."  
  
Zoë could almost hear him tense up and awaken immediately. "Agent Oltie? What are you doing? What's wrong?"  
  
"I think someone was in my apartment," she said cautiously, "I'm not sure."  
  
"Why do you think that?" he asked with growing concern.  
  
"I was reading Mort Rainey's book and I guess I fell asleep. When I woke up, the book was charred to pieces in my kitchen sink. I'm not a sleepwalking pyro, T. Someone was here."  
  
"Check the house," he said calmly, "Get your gun. I'm coming over right now, all right? You've looked for people in dark houses before, Zoë. It's not exactly new shit you're dealing with."  
  
Yeah, she thought sarcastically, But it hadn't been MY house, MY life that someone had been screwing with.  
  
"Okay," she said with a deep sigh, trying to calm her frazzled nerves, "Just hurry over."  
  
"I promise," he said and she knew he meant it. She could hear the rustle of him beginning to gather up his clothes. And then the line went dead.  
  
"T?" she whispered into the receiver, "T, are you there?"  
  
No response. Not even a dial tone. She held the phone away from her ear as if it bit her. It really was dead. She ran into her room and grabbed her gun from her dresser drawer and unlocked the safety. She checked the phone on her nightstand. That phone was dead also.  
  
Zoë cursed to herself and wiped the congealing sweat that was slick on her forehead away. "This just keeps getting better and better," she said and laughed hoarsely, on the fringe of cackling hysterically.  
  
Then she took a deep breath and began her search. Under her bed, in the shower tub, in her laundry room, behind the couch, in every single dark corner where a killer would just be waiting to jump out, gouge her eyes out, then slowly chop off her fingers one by one and listen to her piercing screams.  
  
Christ, she hated having a vivid imagination at times like this.  
  
There was no one in the apartment. She checked one more time just to be sure. She was alone. Goosebumps prickled her clammy skin and she rubbed at her arms as she plopped down on the couch. Should she watch some TV to pass the time until Timothy got there? No, she wasn't in the mood. She felt violated, wigged out, enraged. And watching a bit of Saturday Night Live like it was any normal Friday night would just be her trying to kid herself. She couldn't lie to her mind like that.  
  
Zoë didn't know how much time she spent just sitting there, staring at the light blue wall as if she were in a comatose state, until she heard those tiny noises that caused her nerves to jump all over again. Just regular noises of the apartment groaning, the air conditioning kicking in, the people upstairs moving a piece of furniture. She must have been losing her mind.  
  
The doorbell rang. She ran to the door and checked through the peephole. It was Timothy, her knight in shining armor. His black hair was a bit ruffled like he didn't have time to comb it, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was dressed in sweats; a sight a bit weird to behold since she was used to the fancypants suits that was protocol at work.  
  
Zoë threw open the door and quirked an eyebrow at him. He was holding a bouquet of daisies.  
  
"What are those for?" she asked in confusion, "A 'I'm sorry you got stalked' present?"  
  
"Don't ask me," he shrugged with a stern look, "They were outside your door just sitting here in the hallway."  
  
Her eyes widened and he frowned. She thought back to that day she found one just lying there at her doorstep. Had this intruder been visiting a few more times than she had realized?  
  
"T," she said breathlessly, "I think those daisies are from the guy whose breaking and entering. I found one the other day."  
  
"This isn't good," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, "So am I allowed to come inside or am I confined to partying in the hallway?"  
  
"I haven't made up my mind yet," she said seriously, but when his frown deepened, she grinned and opened her door wider. He took a step inside and took off his black coat and scarf, draping them over the couch.  
  
"Coffee?"  
  
"No thanks," he answered, taking a seat in the fluffy cushioned chair opposite the sofa. She sat on the sofa and stared at him, not knowing what to say or how to begin.  
  
"Mort Rainey?" he asked, saying those two words that held a hell of a lot of meaning.  
  
"Possibly," she replied with a grimace, "His counterpart, John Shooter, would be the one responsible for this."  
  
"You speak as if his alter personality is a real person."  
  
"It might as well be," she snorted, "You should have seen him, Timothy. Mort was standing there, all calm and rational, the next he turned fucking psycho and chased after me. Anything's possible with that man."  
  
"I want to reassign you," Timothy informed her suddenly.  
  
She straightened and replied in a low voice, as if she was trying to keep her temper in check, "And why would you want to do that? I'm getting close to something. I can feel it..."  
  
"Yeah, you can feel death knocking on your damn doorstep!" he all but shouted. He rubbed his temple a few times and said a bit more steadily, "Mort and 'Shooter' like you. A lot. And I don't want to see you get hurt when we could have prevented it before it even happened."  
  
"You're really taking me off the case?" Zoë questioned softly, not even bothering to hide the anger lacing her tone.  
  
"Yes. I want you to get some rest and return Monday all fresh and ready for something new, okay? That's an order." He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, "It's for the best, Ms. Oltie. I know you're mad, but it's for the best."  
  
"Fine," she replied with a shake of her head, "I'll be reassigned."  
  
"No more wild goose chases to the Rainey residence?" he asked with a smile.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"You promise?"  
  
"You have my word." Little did he know she had her fingers crossed behind her back.  
  
* * *  
  
A bit shorter than usual, but don't you worry, pilgrim! Ol' PineAppleLint here will be continuin' it tomorrow, yes siree. Reviews are great! Thanks for all o' your comments! 


	4. Emotional Wreck

Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.  
  
A/N: Woot, reviews! Just like the doctor ordered! Oh, and he said that I should double my prescription (wink) so keep 'em coming! I love hearing what you have to say. Just as promised, the next chapter, dedicated to all those Secret Window fans out there. (salutes)  
  
PineAppleLint  
  
* * *  
  
That morning, Zoë was rambling along a Tashmore County deserted road in her freshly washed Honda, taking a bite of McDonald's breakfast sandwich before grabbing her sunglasses from the glove compartment. Screw healthy breakfast, she thought as she took a sip of her cherry coke. She began to sing along to the old crackly radio and banged her head a little, causing her glasses to scoot down her nose.  
  
"I will survive, I will survive, hey hey!!!" she hollered off-key, enjoying herself, trying to wipe last night from her mind completely. It was a brand new day. No stalker was going to mess around with her head. She wouldn't allow it. No siree.  
  
She paused and cackled to herself. No siree? Seems like she was starting to borrow a few words from Shooter. Stupid bastard. Zoë shivered when she thought of Mort's terrorizing smile, that way he backhanded her with such force he caused the world to fade to black.  
  
"Stop it, Zoë," she said aloud to herself sternly, "You're acting retarded. Pull yourself together, woman!" Fingering the rearview mirror, she glanced at her appearance. Her brown hair was frizzy from the humid air, her lips chapped. No wonder she kept licking them subconsciously.  
  
Turning her gaze back to the road, she shrieked and swerved the car. It hit a rather large tree with a sickening crunch, the airbag deployed, and her head whipped back. She saw stars and heard a buzzing noise for a couple of moments, but that gently subsided. A dull throbbing was left in her head. The clip that had been holding up her hair had broken into four pieces when her skull had hit the headrest. Zoë sat there in shock for a second or two, trying to calm her labored breathing.  
  
There had been a man standing in the middle of the road.  
  
Zoë got out of the car and rested a hand on the hood of the car to steady herself. She glanced at the road in panic.  
  
No one was there. No corpse, no wounded man gasping for help. He had disappeared into thin air.  
  
Looking at the front of her car, she grimaced when she saw it totally smashed to smithereens. Glass littered the side of the road and her airbag was slowly moving in the harsh wind. Glancing up, she watched the heavy grey clouds float ominously by.  
  
"Hello?" she called around her. No answer. The road was surrounded by woods. Could the person she almost hit have been so scared that he fled into the forest? She ran a hand over her face guiltily. She almost killed someone!  
  
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself, "Maybe there was no one there." But there had been. Would she have thought up someone just so she could go barreling into a damn pine tree? She 'hmmmpf'ed sarcastically. Highly unlikely.  
  
There had been a man. He had an old weathered face and wore a faded black coat, grey pants, and suspenders over a white shirt. His dark eyes had bored hers through the windshield. Like he was waiting to die. Like he wanted to get run over and have fucking tire tracks planted on his emotionless face.  
  
Then Zoë's eyes widened when she remembered the hat. The man had been wearing a hat.  
  
Just like Rainey's.  
  
* * *  
  
She refused to call Timothy. He would just scold her for going into Tashmore when she had been 'yanked off' of the case. Zoë wasn't in the mood for a slap on the wrist, a.k.a. a heated pep talk about how damn disrespectful she was. Wanting to call the operator for a local mechanic, she rooted through her bag to find her cell phone gone.  
  
Growling, she remembered she didn't have her cell anymore. Mr. Rainey had thrown it against the wall. May it rest in pieces.  
  
So she did the only thing she could do. She began to walk. With her messenger bag slung over her shoulder, she fingered at her car keys and began to whistle to pass the time. She started with "Oh Susanna" and was whistling the second chorus when she heard it.  
  
"Zoë." She stopped and turned around. No one. Scratching her head, she was about to continue her journey to the nearest store when she heard it again.  
  
"I see you."  
  
Whirling around, she glanced in the shade of the trees, down and up the road a ways, trying to find the owner of the southern drawl. And it didn't sound like Mort's voice. Still, it was deserted. All but her.  
  
"What the fuck do you want?" she asked shakily. No answer. Ohmigod, she was going out of her mind, she thought with a bark of laughter.  
  
"I need therapy," she mumbled and tucked some hair behind her ears. "Hi," she imitated, "I'm Zoë. I hear voices and think some southern hick is out to get me. What? Three prescriptions of the best drugs you have? I guess that will do it." But she didn't even laugh at her own joke. She guessed her own apparent mental instability was no laughing matter, even when she tried to make it funny.  
  
"I'm a lost cause," she informed herself as she tripped over an uneven piece of pavement. When she thought it just couldn't get any worse, it began to pour.  
  
"Oh, thank you, thank you so much!" Zoë shouted, facing the black sky, "Just what I needed at a time like this! Well, isn't life dandy?"  
  
She could hear the slight rumbling of an approaching engine and glanced behind her, narrowing her eyes from her foul mood. She must have looked a fright; standing there hunched like a drowned rat, ready to kick someone's ass just for the hell of releasing a bit of stress. Of course the person behind the wheel of the green rugged SUV was no other than Mort Rainey.  
  
Just who I need to see at a time like this, she thought with an inward groan.  
  
"I saw your car about two miles down the road. Need a ride?" he hollered in a friendly manner as he rolled down the window and stopped at her side. She kept walking. Zoë heard him chuckle a bit, bite his tongue, and the steady creak of the car as it followed her slowly.  
  
"Ignoring me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, "How mature of you, agent Oltie."  
  
She stopped in her tracks and so did the car. Zoë turned and stared him dead in his handsome brown eyes. "Look," she stated crisply, "I don't trust you. I don't like you. Please, leave me alone." He ran a hand through his untidy hair and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  
  
"I'm sorry about the other day," he said slowly, "If that's what you're talking about..."  
  
"Sure, that's half of it. What about last night, hmm?"  
  
"Last night?" he questioned, frowning at her, "What are you talking about?"  
  
She laughed. The rain was soaking through her clothes and making her feel rather uncomfortable. Her white tank top stuck to her skin and showed off her white bra. Zoë crossed her arms when she caught Mort's eyes fall to her chest for a millisecond and return to her face again as he swallowing hard.  
  
"I know you were in my apartment last night, Mr. Rainey," she seethed, "You were there. You burned the book, you left the flowers..."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, hold on a second. I was at my cabin last night. I don't even know where you live, Zoë, so how could I go 'stalk you' or whatever you're implying I did?"  
  
"Yeah, like I think you'd actually be honest with me," she snorted, "Like you'd admit to rooting around my apartment. How silly of me." Zoë jumped when Mort jammed the car into 'park' and with a flick of the keys, turned the car off. Silence settled over them and the road, the only thing they heard was the steady hiss of wind and the pitter-patter of the rain on his windshield and the road.  
  
"I am telling the truth," he said with a sigh, "You're not making it any easier..."  
  
"Just shut up. You just shut up, Mort Rainey. Shut your goddamn mouth. Because I don't have to listen to any explanations of yours. You're just as guilty as the rest of them..."  
  
"You won't even listen to me!" he roared, "Why won't you..." but the sentence died in his throat. She had already turned her back to him and was steadily walking away.  
  
Right when she heard the car door click open, she remembered her gun was in the glove compartment of her car. Zoë dropped her bag and began to run, but wasn't fast enough. Mort had already grabbed her arm and began to drag her to the passenger's side of the car. She screamed as she struggled against him, but no one was there to hear her. She was alone with him.  
  
"Don't worry, missus," he drawled, the accent returning, the gleam in his eyes sharpening as he jerkily opened the door while holding onto her arm in a painful grip, "Stay quiet and ol' Mort won't have to hurt you. I swears it."  
  
* * *  
  
DUN DUN DUN! THAT'S NOT A GOOD SIGN!!! Please review! 


	5. The Deal

_Disclaimer_:  I don't own nothin' but my own characters, pilgrims.  I'm not goin' to lie to myself anymore.  I took the coward's way out.  

_A/N_:  And yet again, hope I sent shivers up your spines!  It's so much fun writing these characters because I get to dig into their brains and try to reveal what makes them tick.  Dig into their brains?  (winces)  That's not a purty picture.  Special thanks to Pirate's Wench for helping me with my technical difficulties!  Check out her story: "Struggle for Control".  It kicks major butt.  And I'm sorry that I have made the chapters a little shorter than the two beginning ones, but I find that it helps with the updating process.  Shorter chapters + more ideas = more updates!  Well, onward with the story!  **Huzzah!**

                                                                                    PineAppleLint

* * *

            "Let go of me, dammit!" Zoë screamed, thrashing in his grip.  But 'Shooter' had more strength than she had ever known: he hefted her up and threw her into the passenger's seat without difficulty.  She struggled to jump out but his hands gripped her thighs and pinned her to the seat.  She stared down at him as he said slyly, "Don't be makin' a ruckus, Miz Oltie.  Or I just maybe will have to take you out in these here woods and drive the hatchet I brought straight between your eyebrows, hmm?"  

            A mental image of 'Shooter' accomplishing such a feat flashed through her mind and her mouth gaped open as if she was silently shouting for mercy.  He grinned, knowing he had her in his clutches willingly now, and actually leaned across her, grabbed the seatbelt, and buckled her in.  She sat rigidly, his hands 'accidentally' brushing across her hips once or twice.  Shooter winked at her and slammed the door shut.  As he walked to the opposite side of the car, she wondered if she could unbuckle herself, climb out, and break into a dead run before he would be able to catch up with her.  Unlikely.  

            Her whole day had been chock full of 'unlikelys'.  

            'Shooter' jumped in and started the car.  Her fingers turned white from lack of blood flow when she gripped the cushion of her seat as if her life depended on it.  He locked the car from the inside.  The SUV coughed and started moving…soon they were whizzing down the road at 50 miles per hour.  

            "I thought you wanted me to stay away from you," she stated matter-of-factly, glancing at him, who was busy concentrating on the road.  

            "Mr. Rainey was keen on lettin' you over for dinner, and I just couldn't have that."

            "So where are we going?" Zoë asked dully, as if she didn't care what their destination would turn out to be.  But the scared gleam in her eyes suggested otherwise.  

            He smiled and said, "Jumpy, are we?  Thought you were more professional than that, Zoë."  

            "You don't know what I am," she snapped, glaring at him, "You don't even know me."  

            "I don't?" he drawled, long and slow, "Just 'cause I talk slow doesn't mean I'm stupid, missus.  So you don't think I know you?  Like I don't know you live on 2353 Sicamore Terrace, like I don't know you've been workin' in the FBI for four years now, like I don't know you went to University of Miami and moved up here to get away from it all, that you haven't been in a serious relationship and you feel alone sometimes like every single woman does?"  He turned to face her.  "Like that, little lady?"  

            She stared at him.  "Someone's been doing their research," she replied wearily.  Hell, not wearily.  More like she was so scared she felt like she was going to crap her pants.  

            "As you can tell, yes, I have.  So don't underestimate me, Miz Zoë.  I know your kind.  You don't stop until you get what you want, and you'll do anythin' to get it.  Well I'm takin' you here on this litt'l drive just so we can make things clear between us, understand?"  

            She nodded, staring at the long stretch of road before them.  

            "You're different, Zoë," he said, rolling her name off of his pink tongue like he found it distasteful, "You want more out o' life than what you have.  You can feel somethin' eating away at you and you don't know what it is.  Well I think I know, missus.  You have a dark side, and you're just painin' yourself by coverin' it up."  

            "I have no idea what you're talking about," she hissed, "Of course everyone has a dark side.  It's a part of life.  Now what you are is just a part of Mort's mind.  He is mentally ill, Shooter.  He made you and he can't seem to get you out of his brain.  You're implanted there, and I'm going to help him remove you, because you're useless.  He doesn't need you, you worthless hick."  

            "He doesn't _need me_?" 'Shooter' cackled, "Yeah, that's what he thought a year or two back.  I've helped him, pilgrim.  I've helped him realize that no one can kick the shit out of his life.  We're a team, him and me.  I look after him."

            "More like you make his life a living hell," she shot back miserably.  

            _What am I doing? _she thought with a wince, _trying to make him mad?  Why am I pushing him so far?  What, do I WANT him to drive that hatchet through my skull?  What is wrong with me?_

            **_Get a grip_****_ on yourself, Zoë, _**the voice in the back of her mind said calmly, using the tone a mother would use on a crying child, **_just talk to him.  He only wants to talk.  You can learn things.  He could help you without knowing it.  _**

            "I make his life a living hell?" 'Shooter' laughed, "He used to think that.  Yes siree, he used to think that.  Now I made his life worth livin'.  'Cause you can't get far in a tiny shitsplat town like this.  I've made him famous."  

_            For murder_, she thought, finishing his sentence.  

            "Did you break into my apartment?" she said suddenly, wanting to know the truth.  She didn't think she would manage to get a truthful answer out of him though.

            "I unfortunately haven't been to your residence," 'Shooter' replied, almost sincerely, and reached for his pack of cigarettes in the glove compartment.  He grabbed a lighter and lit it as he held it between his chapped lips.  He took a puff and closed his eyes in silent pleasure.  She looked down at the package.  Pall Malls.  

            _He could be lying.  But if he actually wasn't, then who had been in her home?  **Stop thinking about it,  the**_ voice returned, **_Just worry about right now.  We'll deal with this later.  _**

            "So what have you done to help him?" she asked carelessly as if it was all just innocent small talk, "His late wife made things a bit rough on him, didn't she?  Did you help him with that?"

            'Shooter's' smile disappeared and he stopped the car abruptly.  Turning to face her, he said ominously, "Don't toy with me, Miz Oltie.  'Cause I'm not tellin' you nothin'.  And neither will Mort.  He promised me he wouldn't."  He ran a hand through Mort's chin length brown/blonde hair.

            "You know what?" he questioned in his southern drawl, "You know what I think?  I think I'm going to give Mort a chance with you."

            "What?" she squeaked, glancing at him in alarm. 

            "He still has got these feelings for you, missy.  Feelings that won't go away.  And I bet a couple o' days with you and he'll be in the right mind again.  He only writes when you come around," 'Shooter' informed her, eyes twinkling dangerously, "I should know.  I've been helpin' him with his latest novel o' sorts."  

            "I don't like Mort," Zoë pointed out with a shaky laugh, "I'm the one who's supposed to be proving you and him guilty, remember?"  

            His stare chilled her to the bone.  He said in a low voice, "If he tells you more than he should, I'll kill you, missus.  I promise.  And if you hurt him, I think he'll be wantin' revenge.  Either way, seems like you lose."  

            He was blackmailing her!  _Son of a bitch._

"We've got ourselves a couple o' townspeople that have been a bit unkind towards the likes of us, Miz Oltie.  And we have a nice spot in the garden all picked out for them.  I've planned out their deaths.  Unless…" he paused for dramatic effect, "Unless you want to stop us."  

            _I can save innocent people.  But what do I have to do, sell my soul?_  "So Mort will start writing again, all I have to do is stop by and check up on him from time to time?" she asked quietly.

            "Yes.  And no personal questions about the past, Zoë.  'Cause then you and I will have to have a chat 'tween ourselves again.  And that will be the last chat you'll ever have."

            "And if I visit, will you stop messing with Mort Rainey?"  

            "Cross my heart, hope to die, pilgrim.  I'll stay out of your business…as long as you stay out of mine."  He reached across the SUV and held out his hand.  She hesitated.  

            **_Take it. _**

****

****_What if he tries to kill me? What if he backs out of the deal?  _

The voice of her own reason did not return.  Finally, she grabbed his hand and they shook firmly.  **_That wasn't so bad, now was it?  _**He grinned, and that grin unsettled her.  The rain had stopped and he pushed a button on his door.  The car unlocked.  

            "Then we have nothin' else left to discuss," 'Shooter' drawled, "I'll make sure to tell Mort of our arrangement."  

            She slowly got out of the car and once her feet hit the pavement, relief flooded through her veins.  "So I guess I won't be seein' you around," she said firmly.  

            He nodded his head towards her in some form of farewell and she almost didn't shut the door in time before he zoomed off.  Zoë watched as the car faded into the distance.  

            What had she done?  

            _I've saved residents of __Tashmore__County__ from a painful death, _she pointed out.  

            **_I hope you know what you're doing.  _**

****

****_I do, _she thought back with a frown, _I will be in control of the situation.  If things get out of hand, I'll go to the agency.  _

_            **They don't know you're back on the case.  Shouldn't you keep things hush-hush?  **_

****

****_For now, no one will know.  It will only be between Shooter, Mort, and I.  _

_            **Oh good, **_the voice laughed dryly, **_A triangle of crazies.  _**And the voice began to laugh.

            She told it to shut up.  

* * *

Talking to herself through her thoughts?  Hmmm…..review please!

_Yes, they are wonderful.  _

**_Yeah, what she said.  _**(heehee)  


	6. The Movie

Disclaimer:  I do not own any of Stephen King's characters.  

Author's Note:  Oh boy.  When I read fanfiction.net isn't allowing 'chatroom text' even in disclaimers and author's notes, I freaked.  Where's the fun in that, huh?  Off to Secret Window madness!

                                                            PineAppleLint  

* * *

            Zoë took a deep breath as she walked up the creaky, ominous steps of Rainey's front porch.  Each squeak was like a cry for her to just stop, turn around, and burn rubber out of there.  But that just wasn't going to happen.  She had to keep up her end of the deal, whether she hated this whole fucking mess or not.  

            Yup.  Her life was falling apart perfectly.  

            **_And you sat there and let it happen, sweetheart.  It's all you.  Your life's the fuckee, you're the fucker.  _**

            Clearing her throat, she lifted her fist to knock solidly on the door but was interrupted in carrying out the task when the door flew open in front of her.  She paused, her hand still in mid air, surprised out of her wits.  

            Mort Rainey, his face usual a mask of calm, quirky serenity, was now stormy as he scowled down at her.  He wore faded blue jeans and a plain navy blue t-shirt fraying at the sleeves.  There were holes in the knees of his jeans, and his bare toes protruded from the bottom cuffs.  

            "I heard what he asked you to do," Mort said angrily, "And I will not accept this.  I just want to be left alone, dammit."  

            "Have a problem with it?  Then let's talk."  

            "No.  Just get off of my property and leave me the hell alone."  He cracked his jaw and snatched his glasses off of his nose, furiously beginning to clean them on a corner of his shirt.  

            Zoë felt the irrational streak in her finally awaken, and she walked straight into his house, brushing past him as she shrugged off her coat.  

            "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his voice growing louder by the minute, "Get out of my house!"  She plopped down on the couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table just to spite him.  A bag of Doritos was knocked over by her foot and rained down onto the floor, the orange chips lightly dusting the floor with their cheesy mist.  

            "Aren't you going to offer me a drink, Mr. Rainey?" Zoë wondered aloud, smirking at him, "Where has your manners gone?"  

            She watched as he clenched his teeth together and released a pent up breath, hissing it through his mouth.  "You want to talk?" he replied, "Fine, then we'll talk.  Go ahead, Ms. Oltie.  Talk away."  

            "Shooter is going to kill people if I don't intervene," she pointed out wearily; suddenly feeling extremely tired all at once.  Slouching down on the couch, she sighed before saying, "I didn't ask for this, Morton.   You know I didn't.  The last thing I want is for you to be upset, but its innocent people we're talking about here."

            Mort considered this for a moment, massaging his temple and sitting on the second stair of the staircase before saying, "Continue."

            "And now Shooter won't even bother you anymore.  He promised me…"

            "That bastard promises nothing," Mort snapped in irritation, "He's going to come out on top somehow.  I just don't know what he wants.  He's manipulating you…me…he wants something."  

            "And it's up to us to figure it out?" she pressed.

            Mort shrugged, clearly not one for answers.  "You shouldn't be here," he said at last after a period of thoughtful silence, "It's not safe for you."

            "I'm not afraid of you, Mort.  I'm scared shitless of Shooter.  But he won't back out of this deal.  We just have to tread lightly…make sure we don't do something to piss him off."  

            "What do you want to do then?" Mort laughed bitterly, "Hang out like long lost friends?  Watch old movies and talk about the good old days?  It doesn't work like that."  He made his way over to the couch and sat next to her, getting comfortable before she replied.  

            "But as long as I'm here, you're Shooter-free.  A good deal, huh?  Peace of mind and good company rolled into one," she joked.  He raised his eyebrows at her and frowned.  

            "Do you really care so much about my welfare?"  

            "You're a good guy, Mort.  I can see that.  But that dark part of you is going to kill again.  I can feel it.  I've spent years helping bring murderers down.  I thought I saw it all…"

            "Until you met me," Mort finished, gazing at her intently.

            "Well, yeah."

            "I wish I wasn't like this," he said, wincing, "You don't understand how it feels.  I wake up every morning wondering if I killed the woman I saw in the supermarket the night before, if I strangled a helpless kid and didn't remember doing so…"  

            Zoë touched his hand and jumped when he stopped talking and entwined his warm, tanned fingers into hers.  He lifted his head again and stared at her with those dark, fathomless brown eyes.  

            **_You like it, admit it, whore.  _**

****

****_I am not a whore.  And why would I like it?  He's a killer, for God's sakes…_

_            **Just advance on him, slow and easy.  You know he wants it.  After all, it's been a while since you've had…**_

****

****_Enough.__  I don't have to take this shit from you.  _

"Thank you for actually caring," Mort laughed, gently rubbing a thumb across her palm in slow, easy caresses, "I don't know a lot of women who'd agree to terms they don't like in order to get rid of my other personality."  

            "Mort, I think I'm the only woman who'd do that."  

            "Yeah, that's the sad part, really," he said with a smile.  She opened her mouth to reply but stopped.  All she could think about were those fingers running across her flesh so _slowly_, so _intimately_.  She was getting goosebumps and couldn't hide them.  Mort noticed and his smile widened a bit.  And that smile made her undeniably nervous.                   

"So would you like that drink?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow before running a hand across the stubble on his chin.  She nodded silently and he let go of her hand, causing relief and disappointment to lace her veins, and he headed towards the kitchen.  

**_Pin him to the fridge._**__

_Just stop talking, please, no more…_

**_            Can't you feel all that tension?  That's called desire.  You're full of it.  Same for Mort, cupcake.  Now go into that kitchen and give him something to write about.  _**

            _No damn way.  _

Mort reappeared with two cans of Mountain Dew and handed one to her.  Wiping a bit of sweat from her brow, she popped the top, taking a hearty swig before resting the cold can against her hot forehead.  

            He stared at her, waiting for her to say something.  "Thanks," she said weakly.  He still didn't look satisfied.  

            "What…what do you want to do?" he asked hesitantly, "Still want to watch those old movies?"  

            Zoë's muscles relaxed a bit before she responded, "As long as we get to talk about those good ol' days we are supposed to have, right?"  

            He nodded with a chuckle, "All right.  You look through the cabinet of movies over there," he pointed to the cabinet to the right of the fireplace, "And I'll make the popcorn.  Sound good?"  

**_I suppose, Morty boy… it's a date.  _**

****

****

****

****

* * *

            Content Zoë yawned and took her eyes off of the television screen for one moment to glance at her watch.  _1:24 am__.  _They had been watching the old classic _Sorry, Wrong Number _starring Barbara Stanwyck and Burt Lancaster, the third movie they had gotten their hands on throughout the evening.  Before that, it had been _Vertigo _and _The Birds_, two Alfred Hitchcock favorites of Mort's.  She would have never suspected him to be the old movie sort of guy.  

            Glancing over at him, she smiled when she found his head lolled to the side and his eyes gently closed, his breathing slowed from sleep.  Mort was leaning some of his weight on her, and his long hair brushed her right shoulder.  Surprisingly enough, he had opened up to her in the middle of _Vertigo_, talking with her about his childhood, discussing things he loved about Tashmore Lake even though the citizens feared him, asking about her own life and where she had come from.  Of course she complied in answering.  For each of his puns, she had a retort.  For each of her sarcastic jokes, he finished the punch line.  They made quite the pair.  

            **_You'd make a better pair upstairs under those sheets.  _**

****

****_Stop it.  I've had enough.  Shut the hell up already!_

_            **Look at him lying there, all defenseless.  Touch his knee.  Drive him crazy.  **_

****

****_We're friends now, I guess.  Friends don't do that to friends, dammit.  _

_            **Pulease****, honey.****  You are sickening, you know that?  You've forgotten all about relationships.  Zoë Oltie, you are one fucked up woman.**_

****

****_What will it take to get you out of my head? _she shrieked inwardly, _What will make you shut your goddamn mouth?!  Do I have to cut you out like guts to a trout?  WHAT?  _

_            **Just kiss him.  One innocent little kiss, darling.  That won't harm anybody, now will it?  And then I'll be satisfied…for now.**_

****

****_No!_

_            **He's asleep…he won't know.  Just to feel those perfect lips would be such pleasant torture.  **_

****

****_I'm not the 'pleasant torture' kind of girl._

Suddenly the voice began to chant, getting louder and louder all the while she winced and held her head…**_do it, do it, do it, do it, do it…_**

****

****Her willpower broke and she found herself leaning towards Mort.  Placing a single finger underneath his stubbly chin, she angled her head just right and brushed her lips past his.  Suddenly, she found herself lingering a bit, whispering a bit back and forth across his mouth until Zoë forced herself to sit back and stare in terror at his sleeping form...

            …which wasn't asleep any longer.  Those brown eyes were gazing back at her, part in alarm, part in curiosity, and part in lust.  

            "What was that for?" he asked hoarsely.  

* * *

I'm cruel, I know.  Hope you liked it!  Please comment, I love hearing what you have to say, dear readers!

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	7. Discovered

Disclaimer:  Stephen King's characters are not mine.

Special thanks to:  Johnny Depp Obsessor of the chapter:  Katie!  Yoho!  Thank you so much for the advice and so on!

A/N:  Don't freak out, readers!  The kiss is, after all, a part of the plot.  And might I just point out that she doesn't like him like that (or, at least, she thinks she doesn't.  Who knows, wink wink), but that 'voice' was driving her insane and she wanted to quiet it.  To no avail, giving in just worsened the situation.  I didn't just put it in there to ruin the story and make it 'mushy' or whatever you want to call it.   A lot of things are going to be happening, but I just can't tell you what!  Why don't you read on and find out for yourselves?

                                                 Rubbernecker!

                                                            PineAppleLint

* * *

            -"What was that for?" he asked hoarsely.-

            Something was happening.  Something Zoë could not comprehend.  All that she knew was that the voice in her mind was poisoning her, little by little.  As time went by, she was getting sicker.  

            And she didn't know how to stop it.  

            _What is happening to me?_

            "What was that for?" Mort repeated incredulously, sitting up straighter on the couch and staring at her intently, waiting for a damn good explanation as to why she had kissed him so randomly.  

            _Oh god, I'm going crazy.  I'm sick.  I can feel it eating away at me, I…_what was she going to say?  Zoë couldn't explain that the voice in her head had commanded her to do so, and that she wanted to get rid of it so badly, she'd follow its orders willingly.  

            **_You can't tell him you made a mistake.  You and Shooter had a deal, remember?  Hurting him could equal a nice little death for you.  You naughty, naughty girl!  How are you going to dig your way out of this hole?_**

****

****Zoë gritted her teeth and said slowly, "I was thanking you." 

            **_Lame, buttercup._****_  Really lame.  _**

****

****"Thanking me?" He swallowed hard and responded, "That was one hell of a thank you."  

            "I have to go," she replied quickly, cursing herself inwardly.  God, now he thought she was falling for him…and she wasn't allowed to set him straight!

            _You tricked me, goddammit!  You cornered me into this trap!_

_            **Finally wised up, have you?  Kind of late for that now.  **_

****

****"I'm sorry," Mort Rainey informed her with a frown, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or whatever, it just caught me off guard, is all."  He ran a hand through his tousled, bed-head hair and added, "Do you really have to go?"  

            "It's late," she pointed out weakly, grabbing her coat and purse.  He jumped up from the coach and followed her to the front door.  The screen door was propped open, and the night was calm, eerily calm.  A swift breeze tickled her face and she desperately wished to just run, to run as far away from him as she could.  But she couldn't.

            The deal weighed her down like a big black anchor was chained to her ankles.  Like she was trapped in his secret garden, lost in it with no way out.  

            "Yeah, I didn't realize how late it was," he stated, scratching an itch on his neck, "Thanks for coming over.  You can stop by whenever you want, all right?"

            Zoë gulped and nodded.  "All right."

            "See you around, Zoë," he said with a nod.  Then he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, his warm lips causing her flesh to tingle like cold needles were pricking her skin.  He did it slowly, as if he was afraid he would frighten her like a vet to a nervous wild animal.  

            She already felt nervous, kiss or without.  Zoë smiled meekly and walked to her fixed car, peeled out of the driveway, and headed onto the main road all without looking back.  But she could sense his eyes on her the whole way.  

* * *

            She didn't know who to call.  Zoë felt lost, alone, and undeniably shaken up.  Nothing like this had happened to her before.  At first she thought the voice was just another part of her conscience, but it was steadily growing into something more…dangerous.  

            Timothy?  Would he help her out?  Grabbing the phone out of its cradle on the wall, she dialed the number with quick accuracy.  Ring, ring, ring… "Hey, you've reached the cell of the almighty Timothy Holton.  Leave a message, I'm busy." ::beep:: 

            "Timothy," she said as calmly as she could, "I need to talk to you.  Something's up and…and I don't know what's going on.  Just give me a call or stop by.  See you later."  Zoë hung up and sighed into her hands.  

            **_Poor baby…you're still all alone.  _**

****

****"Oh, back already, are you?" she asked aloud, laughing when she realized she was talking to herself.  

            **_Did you miss me?  After all, someone's gotta be the cat in our little game of 'cat and mouse'.  _**

****

****"Well, you're doing a superb job.  Kudos," Zoë responded as she sat back in the chair, closing her eyes.  

            **_Thanks.  Seems like you've warmed up to me a bit.  _**

****

****"Who can resist the chance for girl talk?" Zoë questioned sarcastically, chewing on one of her fingernails.  

            **_Speaking of girl talk, when are you going to fuck Rainey?  _**

****

****Zoë snorted and replied, "Wow, aren't you blunt?  So sorry, sweetheart, that's never going to happen."  

            **_I bet.  You sound pretty sure of yourself.  _**

****

****"When this big mess blows over, I'm going to turn him in whether you like it or not."  

            **_You're being irrational.  Get some sleep, hon.  That's the only way you'll get rid of those baggies under your pretty eyes as well as set your mind straight.  _**

****

****"Whatever.  You're right about the 'getting some sleep' part, anyways.  I haven't stayed up this late in…well…forever."  

            **_Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the ultimate party girl, Zoë Oltie._**

****

****"Ha ha, very funny."  

* * *

            Zoë wanted to pretend everything was all right.  Ignorance was bliss.  As she brushed her teeth and shook her hips to the funky beat of the shower radio in the bathroom, she prepared herself for a brand new day.

            Hopefully a brand new day that _wasn't _going to be full of scary voices in the back of her mind or Mort Rainey.  

            **_Wishful thinking._****_  Good morning, sweetie pie.  _**

****

****Zoë winced and ignored the voice as she walked casually to the kitchen and poured herself a bowl of Cheerios, grabbing the paper and began reading the Peanuts comic in the back.  She hummed to herself, but was quickly interrupted.  

            **_You going to see Mort today?_****__**

****

****_No.  I think you've proved your point.  _

_            **Knock, knock.**_

****

****She jumped about a foot in the air when there was a steady knock at her door.  How did the voice know someone was coming?  Okay, she didn't even want to fucking know.  Hesitantly, she made her way to the door and opened it slowly, keeping the security chain on.  

            "Hey.  Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."  It was Mort, looking freshly shaven and clean cut, holding a bouquet of daisies.  _Daisies_.  

            Oh God, how she desperately wanted to keep that security chain on.  But she let out a slow breath, unlatched the chain and forced a grin to her face.  "Mort, what a pleasant surprise."  

            "I was wondering if you were doing anything this evening," he asked hesitantly, massaging the back of his neck, "I don't to intrude, I just came to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight.  My house, my treat.  I'm cooking."  

            "It all depends on how good of a cook you are," she teased, and took the flowers when he handed them to her.  "Thank you, they're lovely."  

            "You like Italian?" he questioned with a smile.  

            "Honey, I _am _Italian.  Or at least half Italian," she confessed, "Of course."  

            "Good.  Then prepare for Italian tonight that is going to kick your taste buds' asses."  

            She stretched and grabbed the vase from on top the refrigerator, immediately filling it with water as she replied, "Thanks for the invite.  My stomach's growling already."

            "Been indulging in Cheerios I see," he said, pointing to the small ceramic bowl on the kitchen table.

            "The breakfast of champions," she agreed.  

            He gazed at her for a moment or two before shaking his head and saying, "Well, I better go.  The infamous chef has to get to work."  

            "Don't work too hard."

            "I'll try not to," he winked.  Suddenly, there was another knock at the door.  

            He raised his eyebrows at her.  "You're pretty popular today."  

            Zoë flicked her wrist at him and joked, "In days that end in Y, you mean.  I'll get that.  Excuse me for one second…"  Rushing over to the door after drying her hands on her jeans, she swung it open.  

            She froze.  It was Timothy.  "Uh, hi."  

            "You said you wanted to talk?" he asked in a concerned voice, "So I'm here.  Mind if I come in?"  

            "Um…" she stammered, about to explain what was going on when Timothy's gaze darkened and was cast over her shoulder.  

            Zoë followed the direction of his gaze with a renewed sense of dread.  There stood Mort, staring back at Timothy with a suspicious expression.  

            "Zoë…" T said at last, "What's going on?"

  
* * *

Oh boy!  Reviews are wonderful!

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	8. Dinner

Disclaimer: Stephen King's _Secret Window, __Secret__Garden_is not mine. Dang it!

Tiny Author's Note: Yay! I'm glad you guys are digging the story so far. Now I don't want to be keeping you…

Without further ado, chapter eight! 

PineAppleLint

-"Zoe..." T said at last, "What's going on?"-

She felt bile rise in her throat and she instantly choked it back down. This was bad, extremely bad. Bordering the edge of unbearable. 

_Think of something, quick! Keep your cool…_

_ **Well, isn't this a treat! Invite him in, girl! Perhaps he'd care for a glass of chardonnay? **_

**__**

****"T," Zoë said after a deep breath, smiling warmly, "Would you like to come in?" 

"What's _he _doing here?" Timothy questioned flatly, eyeing Mort with distaste. Mort raised his eyebrows in return. 

**_Your boss has a nice ass. Do you like to 'file his papers'? _**

**__**

****"Wow, where did my manners go?" Zoë asked no one in particular with a rather nervous laugh, "Timothy, this is Mort Rainey. Mort, this is my boss, Timothy." 

"Nice to meet you," Mort said with forced politeness, extending his hand. Timothy refused to take it, gazing at it in disgust as the tension in the room thickened. 

Mort retracted his hand, swallowing hard. "I better go," he said with a glare in T's direction. His stare softened when it landed on Zoë. He looked at her lips, as if wanting to kiss her, but thought better of it, considering the situation at hand, and nodded in her direction before slipping through the door. 

"What the _fuck _are you thinking, Zoë?" Timothy shouted as he slammed the door shut after Mort left, "What is he doing here, in your apartment, for chrissakes?"

"I thought, maybe…if he grew more comfortable with me, he'd confess…" 

"No. You didn't _think_. I took you off this case, remember? He could have killed you!"

"He could have tried. But I wouldn't have allowed it," she replied with a weak smile. When his face reddened with anger, that smile was wiped off of her face mighty quick.

"No one would have heard your screams. Your neighbors are practically skeletons!" 

"Now that wasn't a very nice thing to say. If they heard you say that, you'd hurt their feelings." 

"Do you enjoy torturing me?" he asked in an infuriated tone. 

**_She may not, but honey, give me a chance and I'll torture you senseless if you catch my meaning…_**

**__**

****"No…well, maybe a little." 

"Are these from him, too?" Timothy questioned in disgust, pointing at the new flowers in the vase. When she didn't answer, he threw up his hands in despair. 

"You leave me no choice, Zoë."

"Wait…what? What choice?"

"You're fired." 

"_What?!_"

**_Asshole._****_ What is this, 'The Apprentice'?_**

**__**

****_I didn't know voices watched cable. _

_ **You have a smart mouth, sweetie. And that can only lead to trouble. **_

**__**

****_Trouble's my middle name. And it's kinda too late to be worrying about that now, ain't it?_

Zoë blinked. "I'm fired." 

Timothy nodded hesitantly, as if he was still trying to tell himself that it had been the right thing to do. "You know I didn't want to do this, Zoë. I had a chat with the board and they said one more mishap with you and you're done for. This will be the last straw for them. I'm sorry." 

"But you don't have to tell them!" she pleaded, "I was just trying to help the case…"

"Telling them is my job. Perhaps I've had enough of your 'disobeying orders', too." 

Zoë let out a shaky breath and said icily, "I think it's about time you saw your way out of my apartment."

"Don't do this…"

"I'll do whatever the hell I want. Now go." 

**_Oh! And the judges say that Zoë has won this round!_**

**__**

****Timothy growled, "Fine. If you want to act like a child, fine. See you around." And then he went as quickly as he had come. 

**_He'll pay for this. _**

**__**

****"I'm not worried about it. He can do what he damn pleases. I'll just be looking for a new occupation, is all." 

**_You make it sound easy. I have some advice…start memorizing the phrase: 'Would you like fries with that?'_**

**__**

****"You sure are good at saying the wrong things at the wrong time."

**_Thanks. I've had years of practice._**

**__**

**__**

**__**

**__**

The doorbell rang, and Mort fumbled to put on his glasses as he walked casually to the door. Opening it, his breath caught as he came face to face with a grinning Zoë. 

"You're all dolled up," he pointed out with an appreciating glance up and down. 

"Hi to you too," she said slyly, running her hands along the front of her red skirt that brushed her knees, "You like it? It's new."

"Yeah. I have one just like it." Zoë laughed and he smiled as he opened the door wider for her to enter. 

"Make yourself comfortable," Mort suggested, "I just need to finish up a thing or two in the kitchen. It's almost ready." 

"Good, because I'm ready to critique this meal of yours," she teased, "See if it really lives up to the Oltie standards." 

He gave her a fake shudder of fear and said, "No, not the Oltie standards! Anything but that!" and vanished into the kitchen. 

She followed him in, finding him stirring a pot of white sauce on the stove. He glanced over his shoulder to find her leaning up against the doorframe, watching him. "What do you put in your sauce, Oh Damned-Good-Cook-of-Justice?"

"That cannot be uttered. It's a secret Rainey recipe." 

He added a pinch of spice to the pot of sauce and suddenly felt her hovering over his shoulder, trying to take a peek.

"Rubbernecker," he muttered good-naturedly.

"I assure you my neck is not made of rubber. Now give me a taste." He lifted the wooden spoon to her lips. She pursed her lips, blew on the small bit of sauce, then sipped on it. After a couple dramatic smacks of her lips, she proclaimed, "There is only one word to describe this sauce…mediocre." 

"Take it back!" Mort retorted, narrowing his eyes at her playfully, "Take it back right now!" When he dropped the spoon back in the pot and began to tickle her sides she laughed, jumped away from him and said, "All right, I admit it: it's absolutely divine. Now when can I have another taste?"

"Well, I haven't had mine yet, so it wouldn't be quite fair for you to get another." 

"Oh?" she lifted an eyebrow, "And what, pray tell, do you want a taste _of_?" 

"You said your neck wasn't made of rubber. I think only an expert can tell for sure." 

"And I suppose you're the expert, Mort?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" he said with a smile, leaning over and sweeping her wild hair away from her neck. Zoë closed her eyes and threw her head back, wrapping her arms around his own neck when she felt his lips on her throat, gently suckling on her pulse. He felt her pulse quicken under his mouth and he grinned against her smooth skin. 

Breaking away after a couple of moments, he said into her ear, "Yup. Definitely not rubber."

"I sure as hell hoped not." 

"You better go sit down…you're distracting the cook," he said with a mischievous wink.

"One of my many talents of course," she winked back, taking a seat at the kitchen table, smoothing out her skirt, "So where did you learn how to cook?"

"Taught myself, mostly," he answered, adding a few finishing touches to the sauce, "It's a way to impress the ladies."

"Now who said I was impressed?" 

"Who said you were a lady?" he shot back, eyeing her with a pleased expression. 

"Now that was a hit below the belt," she pointed out.

"You're not even wearing a belt," he laughed, carrying over a bowl of fettuccini alfredo and a homemade salad, setting it on the table. She casually placed her napkin in her lap and held a fork in one hand, a knife in the other, looking overly eager. "Let's do this thing!"

"So, I'm thinking you like it," Mort replied to her as she let out a moan of appreciation after the first bite.

"Very much," she replied, opening her eyes again, "Thank you for coming over and inviting me to dinner today."

"No problem. Oh…did everything work out between you and your boss?" he asked hesitantly, swirling his wine in his glass before taking a drink from it. 

"You could say that," she said with a shrug, moving a piece of the pasta along her plate.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I got fired," she said with a bitter laugh, "Yup. Crazy, I know."

"He _fired _you?" Mort said disbelievingly, "It wasn't because I was there, was it? Shit, I hope not…"

"No. I blatantly disobeyed orders. They had enough of me, that's all." 

"I'm sorry, Zoë. Those bastards don't know what they're doing, letting someone as good as you go." 

"Aw, thanks. Well, look at it this way, now we don't have to worry about the whole 'I'm-supposed-to-be-turning-you-in' thing, right?" 

"I suppose. Kind of like looking at the glass as half full." 

"Hell yes." She took a sip from her wine and rested her chin on her hand before adding, "So you hear voices sometimes, am I correct?" 

"Excuse me?" Mort dropped his fork and stared at her in bewilderment. 

"Voices. You hear them. And answer honestly," she said with a coaxing smile, hoping to make him feel more at ease in the situation of her interrogating him. 

Mort swallowed and said, "Sometimes. Yes, I do. Why?" He tilted his head to the side and gazed at her, waiting for a valid answer. 

"Because," she whispered, "I hear them too." 

Uh oh! Did she make the right move by telling him her secret? Everyone hop onto the cliffhanger train, choo choo!


	9. Confide In Me

Disclaimer: Avast! Who said I be ownin' anything, ye cowardly swabs? I don't own a shilling o' it, savvy? Whoa…wrong fanfic.

-"Because," she whispered, "I hear them too."-

Mort set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, staring at her with an expressionless face. "I don't appreciate jokes like that, Zoë," he finally said, his voice carrying a warning edge to it.

"Morton Rainey…why would I make shit like that up? After all these nice things you've done for me, you really think I'd screw around with your head?"

**_It's not his head you want to 'screw' around with, honey._**

****

****Zoë winced and added, "I'm not lying. She's here."

Mort licked his chapped lips out of habit. "I don't know why you'd make it up, Zoë. For attention, maybe? Trying to beat me at my own game? I don't know."

"Why would I want to manipulate you?" she asked angrily, throwing down her own silverware, "I lost my job. It would be worthless for me to try and turn you in now. Plus, I don't want to, all right? I admit it…I've taken a liking to you, Mr. Rainey. And if you don't trust me, well, then you can go fuck yourself."

Mort looked surprised by her sudden outburst. She crossed her arms, waiting expectantly for any kind of reply.

"This…voice…" he swallowed hard, "You said it was female?"

"Yeah, and she's one hell of a psychotic bitch. I don't know what's happening to me, Mort. She showed up about two weeks ago and has been driving me crazy ever since. I mean, it's not even _my _voice. Not like a conscience at all. It's like…"

"Someone's inhabited your mind?" Mort suggested, his eyes locking onto hers through his glasses.

"You could say that. God," she laughed, "I sound like a freak, don't I?"

"No," he said quietly, "Nothing of the sort. It's actually kind of nice to know someone's experiencing the same thing."

"We could be locked up in an institution for this, you know that right?" Zoë said with a bitter laugh, "We could have hospital gowns, injections every half hour…the whole ten yards."

Mort grinned and said, "That's why I haven't told anyone about the voice besides you. They won't take me in without a fight."

"Hell yes. To insanity!" She lifted her wine glass.

"He chuckled and picked up his one glass, clinking it against hers. They smiled at each other before throwing their heads back and finishing off the wine.

"Holy shit…she's not going to materialize in front of me, is she?"

"What? Oh, you mean the voice?"

"No, I meant the Easter Bunny. Yeah, the voice."

"I don't know," Mort shook his head truthfully, "I can't say for sure. I'm sorry if…" He paused.

"If what? Continue, oh-wise-one."

"If Shooter somehow did this to you."

With a flick of her hand, she replied, "I'm fine. I'll deal with it. We've actually gotten quite close, my voice and I."

**_Aw, I'm tearing up._**

****

****"She says she's tearing up," Zoë commented with a roll of her eyes, "What a drama queen."

"Do you even know her name?" Mort questioned, eyeing her curiously.

"That's a good question!" Zoë declared, "Voice of Doom, what is thy name?"

**_Why don't you give me one and we'll go from there?_**

****

****"She wants me to name her," Zoë said with a sigh, "I'm not feeling very creative."

"How about Ethel?" Mort teased, taking a bite of pasta.

"Nah," she wrinkled her nose in disgust, "What is she, ninety five?"

**_I'm your age, dummy, and Ethel is a shitty name. _**

****

****"Ellie," Zoë said while rearranging the salad greens on her plate, "Her name will be Ellie."

**_Eh…I dunno…_**

****

****_Live with it._

"Ellie…I like it," Mort said with a nod, "This is kind of fun, naming the voice in your head."

"Only you, Mort," Zoë laughed, "Only you. I could never have this conversation with anyone else."

He smiled and placed his hand on hers where it laid on the table. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah, like a weight's been lifted off my chest. Thanks for understanding. Now how about you?" she questioned slyly, running her thumb along his hand, "Anything you need help with?"

Mort's smile vanished and he took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "I think it's time I told you my story."

"Your story?"

"About how I became a murderer."

---------------------

After Mort finished, the candle had burned out and their food had long since vanished. Zoë rested her head against her hand and gazed at him with a dazed expression, trying to comprehend all of the information he had given her at once.

_Holy crap on a stick.__ I have enough information to turn him in now if I wanted to._

_ **But you won't.**_

****

****_But I won't._

Mort's handsome brown eyes studied her, waiting for her reaction.

"They're…in the garden?" She glanced out the window where she could see a few cornstalks dancing in wind, illuminated by moonlight.

"Yes…well, two of them are."

"What a bitch."

"Who?" Mort asked with a frown.

"Your ex-wife," Zoë said, tracing the old scratches on the table with her fingernail, "I mean, why would she go behind your back and do such a thing?"

"I guess now we'll never know, thanks to Shooter."

"Yeah. It's a shame, really. Are you glad she's gone?"

Mort looked startled by the sudden question. He rolled up his sweater to his elbows and replied, "I don't know. Yes and no, I suppose. Yes, so now I won't have to worry about her, no because she was still someone I used to love."

"Love," Zoë shook her head, "It's a crazy thing. All it will get you is a whack in the head with a shovel."

Mort was hesitant, not knowing what she meant by that, but relaxed when he saw her lips curve into a smile. He stood up and brought his dishes to the sink. Zoë followed, clinking her own in the sink after him. She grabbed the dish soap and rolled up her sleeves, turning the faucet and filling the stainless steel basin with sudsy water.

"You don't have to do that."

"Washing dishes is my specialty," she pointed out, "Don't come between a gal and her dishes."

"You wash, I'll dry," he suggested, grabbing a dish towel. She plunged her hands into the water, then shortly after scratched an itch on her forehead.

The corners of Rainey's mouth twitched as he informed, "You've got bubbles in your hair."

She reached over and ran her soapy fingers through his soft light brown hair, replying, "Well so do you."

His expression changed to one of playful innocence. She saw him shoot a glance towards the spraying nozzle for intense dish cleaning conditions. Zoë wagged a finger at him. "Nuh uh. Don't even think about it, Mort. You do and I'll beat you down."

"You promise?" he teased, cornering her and pressing her against the counter.

**_Wow, I'm lovin' this situation. Make him beg for more._**

****

****_I'd rather take it slow, thank you very much._

"Feeling feisty, Mort?" she questioned, staring at him with a mischievous little smirk as she wrapped her arms around him.

"You know…it amazes me you haven't headed for the hills yet after what I've told you about me."

Zoë tsked him and said, "What you told me about _Shooter._ There is a difference." And why would I head for the hills after eating such a big dinner? All that physical activity would make me queasy."

Mort ran his fingers through her brown hair and kissed her forehead, murmuring, "Physical activities would make you queasy, would it? A pity."

"Well," Zoë said with an innocent grin, "Not _all _physical activities."

::fans self:: Review please!


	10. In the Flesh

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Steven King's! Meh.

Author's Note: Yay! I'm back and ready for action, chicos and chicas! I really hope you like this chapter…and I know how this story's going to end, but that won't be for another couple chapters. Mort and Zoë are such awesome characters to write because they have such eccentric personalities. Well, I order you to enjoy this chapter. Go! Enjoy!

PineAppleLint

-"Well," Zoë said with an innocent grin, "Not _all _physical activities."-

**_Whatever happened to taking it slow?_**

****

****Zoë grimaced and loosened her grip on Mort, who frowned at her sudden distasteful reaction.

_You're right. I'm acting silly, aren't I? A stupid woman chock full of contradictions. _

_ **Hell, by all means, I'm all for your 'silly contradictions'. **_

****

****"Hey, what's wrong?" Mort asked, glancing at her as she leaned against the counter and let out a slow breath. He touched her shoulder and she smiled nervously.

"I don't know, just a bit confused, is all."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just…ugh, nevermind. I'm being retarded," Zoë said with a wave of her hand, reassuringly embracing him once more, "There's just a lot on my mind."

"Me too," he said with a wicked smile, letting his eyes roam her body predatorily, "But I don't think you want to know what's on _my _mind."

"Oh, don't play it like that. Why don't you share with the rest of the class, hmm?" she suggested, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in his natural scent. Mort smelled like soap and new books hot off the press.

"I was thinking about giving you the tour of my bedroom," he said slowly into her ear. It tickled.

"But I've already seen your bedr…_ohhhhh_," Zoë stammered, "I see."

He felt her tense under his arms and he sighed, apologizing, "I'm sorry. That was obviously too bold of me."

**_I love my men bold. _**

****

****"No, it wasn't," Zoë said, swallowing hard. She lifted her head and met his gaze, "I want to take things slow tonight."

Mort nodded and gently removed the glasses from his face. He placed a hand against the side of her face and those dark brown eyes studied her expression before he leaned in and kissed her, taking small sips at her mouth.

"Is…this…slow…enough?" he questioned hoarsely between kisses.

Zoë felt like her veins were exploding with barely contained lust. Her rational mind told her to take things slow, her heart feared any kind of contact with him at all, and her body was screaming for something fast-paced.

She whispered, "Good enough for me."

--------

Zoë awoke and practically jumped out of her skin when she found someone lying next to her.

**_A bit jumpy, are we? _**

****

****Mort was holding her against him, and the skin-on-skin contact made her flush.

**_Almost forgot we had a little fun last night, did you? Well, let me remind you. Congratulations for fucking Mort Rainey. _**

****

****_It wasn't 'fucking'. Don't make it sound so vulgar. _

_ **Fucking, making love, mating, it's all the same deal, sweetheart. **_

****

****Zoë ran a hand through her knotty hair and yawned. She almost doubled over when the ache in her lower abdomen hit her full blast.

_Oh God. I'm not used to this. _

_ **You're back in the saddle again. Yeehaw. **_

****

****Zoë glanced up at Mort to find him stirring. His tousled hair surrounded his peaceful, slack face as he slept. The soft sunlight cascaded down on them through his bedroom window. She ran a hand across his chest. He was definitely in shape, and he had helped prove that by taking her on the ride of her life last night.

_I can't believe this. I can't believe I stayed the night._

**_Face it: you were lonely. Mort was lonely. Things happened that you just couldn't control. _**

****

_Holy freaking hell, I'm falling for him, aren't I?_

_ **Looks that way, sweetbum.******_

****

****Zoë sat up slowly and pressed the bedsheets to her chest as she studied his sleeping form. Mort had taken it slow, just like she had asked him to, and she had almost shaken herself out of her skin from the way he had touched her, kissed her, loved her to her heart's content. He had whispered sweet nothings into her ear as he took her, made her laugh with his witty comments, made her groan with wanting him.

"Awake already? If you're not exhausted I guess I failed doing my duty," she heard Mort exclaim in a sleep-slurred voice. Zoë smiled and met his gaze. Damn him, he was even a quick-witted morning person, too.

"You're hair's starting to look like mine," he added, crinkling his nose, "Want to make it a fashion statement together?" Mort sat up and wiped a few stray hairs from her face.

"Sure. I don't know about you, but I think that by this time next year, everyone's going to be wearing the tousled just-out-of-bed hairdo. You won't be cool until you get the Rainey haircut."

Mort grinned and nipped at the side of her jaw. "I'm sorry I bruised you."

"What?"

He placed a finger on her throat and said, "I gave you a hickey. I feel like I'm back in high school. This is a proud moment for Mort Rainey."

"I bet back in the day you gave all the girls hickeys," she teased, scooting closer to him before saying slyly, "In the back of an old pickup truck at the Drive-In."

"Actually, it was in a beat-up corvette down by the lake," he replied with a wink, placing his hand behind her head and laying her against the wrinkled sheets once more.

"Ah, I should have known you were the corvette type," she said with a shake of her head, grinning up at him. He slid the sheets off of her and ran a hand down her abdomen, letting his lips follow.

"I love having conversations with you," Zoë said, lifting her head to peek at him staring mischievously back at her before he bent down and pressed another soft kiss to her belly.

"Mort Rainey," she said with a smug smile, lying back once more, "You better stop that before you make me blush." He returned to her side and she bounced the mattress a little. "This is a comfy bed. I like it. Perhaps I'll steal it when you're not looking."

"I'd like to see you sneak it out of the front door," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching, his brown eyes sparkling in the new sunlight, "I barely sleep on it, anyway. You know I usually go for the couch."

"The couch, hmm? Sounds like an adventure," she said wickedly, "That's on our To-Do list." He laughed and she brushed a hand across the beginning stubble of his goatee. She added, "Someone needs a shave." She touched his hairy, masculine legs and said, "Yup. Definitely needs a shave."

"Do you enjoy bating me?"

"Very much so, yes."

"Someone needs to be taught a lesson," Mort informed, placing some fingers to his chin, dramatically thinking, "And I think that person is you."

"Fine, wise teacher, what do you have to teach me?" Zoë asked, quirking an eyebrow as his eyes swept over her exposed form.

"It seems you've passed your physical examination. Now it's time for the exam. What did you learn today?"

"You were a pimp in high school," she said, stretching, grazing his shoulder with her swollen lips.

"Besides that," Mort pointed out good-naturedly, grabbing her and pulling her to him so that there was no space between them.

"Uh…you're insatiable?" she guessed, "I make you weak-in-the-knees? You swoon whenever you see me? You…AH! Hey!" He pinched her and Zoë yelped, glaring mockingly back at him.

"Seems someone didn't do their homework. Let's study for a bit, shall we?" And he wrestled her back under the covers. She was smiling foolishly the whole way down.

-----------

Zoë was running a towel through her hair and staring into the mirror in Mort's bathroom. She had on one of his oversized, faded blue t-shirts that reached her mid-thigh. Zoë found herself staring back at her expectantly.

"It feels weird being unemployed. I haven't lain around like a bum all day in quite a while," Zoë said to her reflection.

"Well, except you _weren't lying around _all day, honeybuns. Don't lie to yourself."

Zoë blinked a couple of times and her jaw dropped. Her reflection was talking back to her. It was Zo's body, no doubt about it, but the reflection was fucking talking back. And it wasn't her voice. It was…

"Ellie?" Zoë whispered hoarsely.

"In the flesh," Ellie replied cockily, placing her hands on her hips and sneering at her, "Well, maybe I should say in _your _flesh."

Zoë thought she had seen everything. But this was just plain weird. Seeing your body talk, use your expressions, and move without your knowledge was about enough for Zoë to scream her bloody head off.

_Okay_, Zoë thought, _I'm just going tot freak right out. _

"Happy to see me?" 'Ellie' asked with a wink, "You knew I'd be back."

"Yeah, but not like this. In a fucking mirror. Using _my _body."

"Had a little fun today, did you, you naughty girl?"

"You could say that."

Ellie paced back and forth before resting against the sink and saying, "I'd love to get my hands on that man. You're one lucky bitch."

"I know. And don't even think about pulling any funny business," Zoë said with narrowed eyes, pointing at her, "I know how you like to keep those extra tricks up your sleeves."

"What can I say?" Ellie scoffed, batting her eyelashes, "I don't play nice."

"Why are you here anyway, Ellie? What do you want? I figure this isn't just a social call."

"What's wrong with wanting to see my favorite gal, hmm? Wanting to have a girl talk? Are you discriminating against me just because I'm someone you made up? I'm your creation, babycakes, and I don't think you should forget that."

"Please don't call me babycakes. Really, why are you here?" Zoë questioned while massaging her temple in irritation.

"Jeez, sex sure makes someone cranky."

"No, it doesn't, I just want to know what's fucking going on!"

"Let's just say you and your lover are in trouble, big time."

"What? How?"

"Why don't you go find Mort and see for yourself, eh? See ya later, darling." Ellie pressed a mocking kiss to the mirror and suddenly, Zoë found herself staring back at her calm, normal reflection. Okay, did she dream it?

Zoë leaned against the sink and wiped a finger against the mirror in confusion and curiosity. Then she held her finger in the light.

Lipstick. And it wasn't her shade.

----------------

Zoë found clean, shaven Mort downstairs on the couch, staring at the TV screen as if he were in a daze.

"Watching your cartoons, are you?" Zoë teased as she made her way down the stairs and went up behind Mort, beginning to massage his shoulders. When Mort didn't answer, she continued, "Something really weird happened upstairs…I was in the bathroom and…Mort? What's wrong?"

He swallowed hard and pointed at the TV screen. It was the local news station. She went and sat next to him, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume.

They were showing footage of an SUV being pulled out of a local lake.

"_…found earlier today in a local lake in southern Tashmore, two dead bodies were discovered amongst the wreckage. Their identities are not being released as of yet. The police force and the FBI are working hard to find the culprit. The only information we've attained is that there is only one suspect known." _

Mort turned off the TV and took a shuddery breath. He met Zo's frightened gaze and said slowly, "I'm in deep shit."

Oh, no! What's going to happen next? SUSPENSE! ACTION! ROMANCE!

Review please! And if anyone can catch the _Once Upon A Time in Mexico_ 'quote' of sorts in this chapter, a cyber cookie for you! : )


	11. Caught

Disclaimer:  I own nothing except Zoë, Ellie, and their adventures, savvy? 

Author's Note:  Quotes?  I love quotes…cyber cookies all around!  Most of you got it, so chow down.  Well, seems like the police are in on Mort's little secret.  What's going to happen next?  I decided not to let you guys agonize over that small cliffy.  So here you are! (And don't worry; I'm definitely keeping this story PG-13)

                                                                        PineAppleLint 

--------

-Mort turned off the TV and took a shuddery breath.  He met Zoë's frightened gaze and said slowly, "I'm in deep shit."-

            Zoë stared at the blank TV screen and sank back into the cushions of the couch.  "Was that…"

            "Yes.  That was my doing."  Mort cracked his jaw and said wildly, "They're probably on their way over right now." 

            "Why?  How would they know it was you?" 

            "I was person people last saw Tom Greenleaf and…" he trailed off, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, "Bastards.  They've been waiting for this day to come for a long time." 

            "We're in big trouble.  We need a plan," Zoë said, trying to stay calm for his benefit.  She gently ran a hand across his shoulders for comfort, but he jumped off of the couch and began to pace. 

            "What do you mean, _we're _in trouble?  This is my problem, not yours." 

            Zoë glared at him and said, "Well after that little rendezvous last night, I'd say I've made it my problem, too." 

            "What, you starting to regret what happened last night?  This morning?  Huh?" Mort asked, eyes flashing, "Because if you are, by all means, you're free to just walk right out that door and never see my face again." 

            "I didn't mean it like that," Zoë said softly, "Don't get upset, all right?" 

            Mort let out a sigh and sank back down on the couch next to her, planting a kiss on her forehead and wrapping an arm around her.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just freaked out right now.  Don't mind me." 

            Zoë smiled and said, "Well let's think rationally.  If you stay here, you know they'll find you."

            "You're right.  Absolutely right," Mort said, letting out a slow breath, "I have to leave." 

            "That would be smart," Zoë nodded, but Mort's simple comment was like a punch to the gut.  _After all that, he was going to vanish into thin air?  _Dammit!  Of course right when she admitted to liking him, he would have to pack up and move his ass out of there. 

            Mort noticed her melancholy change of mood and said quietly, "Hey.  Want to come?" 

            "Excuse me?" Her jaw dropped. 

            "You don't have a job.  You hear voices…not to mention I've grown on you…"  He grinned when she punched him in the arm lightly, and continued, "You have the ultimate case of 'I-have-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here' heebie jeebies.  Want to come with me?" 

            Zoë swallowed and asked, "Where would we go?" 

            "Out of state, most likely.  They'll be searching these parts like crazy." 

            "You're asking me to get involved in this big mess?"

            Mort frowned.  Clearly he hadn't thought of it that way.  "What am I thinking?" he laughed bitterly, "I'm being selfish."  He kissed her on her soft lips and said, "You're right.  It'd be dangerous.  I have to deal with this on my own." 

            Zoë finally made up her mind after sorting all those crazy thoughts in her head away in their own individual bins.  "Honey, 'danger' is my middle name."  Mort's eyes lit up as she said with a wink, "Now where's the suitcases?"

---------

            A half hour had passed and Mort's place already looked trashed as they dug around for certain things he wanted to bring with them.  They were sorting through clothes on his bed when he said, "We'll stop by your place to get your things, all right?  And we need gas for the car." 

            "Sounds good to me.  But we better make it quick.  You can just leave my car here.  It's still banged up after that crash...I bet after five miles that piece of shit would fall apart like a dry pancake." 

            Mort laughed and snapped the suitcase shut.  "That oughta do it."

            "How about your laptop?" 

            "I'll go grab it.  Can't leave that baby behind.  If we did I'd cry." 

            Zoë crinkled her nose and said, "That wouldn't be very manly."

            "Hey, sometimes a guy has to let the tears flow.  Keeping it pent up inside wouldn't be very healthy." 

            She smiled as she grabbed the heavy suitcase and said, "I'll go put this in the car as you grab the laptop and anything else you might want, okay?"  She glanced out the window down at the driveway and her smile instantly disappeared. 

            "What?" he questioned in concern, "What is it?"

            "Did you leave the front door unlocked?" she whispered.

            "Why?"

            "There's two police officers out there, getting out of their patrol car." 

            Mort growled in frustration and said, "Do you have your gun on you?"

            "You want me to shoot at police officers?!" 

            "No.  Just in case they don't take no for an answer, I want you armed." 

            "And what about you?  Are you just going to karate chop them or something?  Pull a Jackie Chan on their ass?  I don't think so."

            "I've got Shooter.  I'll be fine." 

            Zoë didn't like the sound of that. 

----------

            The police officers knocked once or twice before Zoë got the chance to answer the door.  "What brings you here today, gentleman?" she asked politely, giving them the best damn fake smile she could offer.  One of the officers had black hair graying around the edges and a curly moustache; the other had blue eyes and wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. 

            "I'm Officer Smith and this is Officer Hernandez.  We'd like to see Mr. Morton Rainey.  We need to bring him down to the station to ask him a few questions," the black-haired man said.  Zoë glanced down at his hand to see handcuffs swinging loosely from it.  _Oh dang.  _

"He's not here at the moment," she stated, "But if you could come back later, I'm sure he'd comply and answer your questions."

            "Where is he?"

            "Out getting groceries.  It won't take him that long to return." 

            "Who are you, then?" the Officer Hernandez questioned suspiciously, studying her from head to toe.

            "I'm…" she hesitated before saying confidently, "I'm his girlfriend, Zoë Oltie." 

            The two men glanced at each other in surprise.  One replied, "Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if we waited here until your boyfriend returns?  We'd like to ask you a few questions as well."

            _Shit, shit shit, stupid, stupid, stupid!  _"Of course," Zoë said through clenched teeth, "Come on in."  She opened the door for them and asked if they'd like anything to drink.  They declined. 

            _Mort, please stay upstairs, please…_

"Ms. Oltie…are you aware that Mr. Rainey has been charged with the murder of four people?" 

            "I'm quite aware of that, Officer Smith." 

            The older gentleman was still staring at her.  He finally said, "The name Oltie sounds familiar.  Too damn familiar." 

            "Oh?  Is that so?"

            "Zoë Oltie," Officer Smith said slowly, "Wasn't that the name of the agent who was helping us out with the Rainey case?" 

            "Yes, it was," Zoë said, crossing her arms.

            The two men stared at her, taken aback.  "Wait, you're his _girlfriend_?!  And you're supposed to be helping us with this case?"

            "I'm not an agent anymore, sir.  I'm sorry, but I can't help you out in that area of expertise anymore." 

            "Clearly you know more than you're telling us."

            "Perhaps I do, but do you really think I'd tell you?  I want a lawyer present," Zoë replied with a smile.  She wanted to make this as hard for them as possible.

            "Don't make this difficult for us, Ms. Oltie.  We're only trying to help." 

            "If you call this helping, you're seriously out of your minds.  I think it's time you both left now."  She got up to show them out, but they didn't move from their seats on the couch. 

            "We won't hesitate to arrest you, Oltie.  Just give us your cooperation." 

            "I don't give a damn what you two say.  Get out of Mort's house.  Now." 

            "She's delusional," one whispered, "This is insane." 

            "Why would you go from being a well respected member of the FBI to a killer's girlfriend, Zoë?  It just doesn't make sense." 

            "It makes sense to me."

            "Have you gone crazy?"

            Zoë snapped.  "Okay, maybe I have!  Rub it in, why don't you?  It's not my problem if Ellie appears right in front of me!  If I hear this voice consistently telling me what and what not to do!  Why don't you guys understand it's people like Mort and I who just want to be left the fuck alone?!"

            Officer Hernandez said sadly, "I think we need to get you some help, m'am.  Come with us and you'll start to feel better in no time, I promise."

            "Don't talk to me like I'm fucking five years old."

            Officer Smith suddenly pounced, grabbing her while Hernandez got out his cuffs.  "Get off me!" she screamed, "Leave me alone!"  Then she stopped screaming.  Zoë felt weird.  Chills went up her spine and goosebumps broke out along her pale, clammy skin.  Then, she felt herself black out as she swam in nothingness. 

            When she came to, she found both police officers on the floor.

            Dead. 

---------

Oh boy!  What happened?  Where was Mort when this was going on?  Cliffy again!  Mwahha! 


	12. Running Out of Time

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from _Secret Window, __Secret __Garden_. But I would love to own a certain Mort Rainey. -wink- He can run, but he can't hide!

Author's Note: We have about 3 chapters to go! This story just flew by, sadly. Let's see how Mort and Zoë are holding up, shall we?

--------------------

-When she came to, she found both police officers on the floor.

Dead.-

Zoë let out a weak gasp and crumbled to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Did she…did she kill them? She glanced off to the side to see her gun tossed underneath the coffee table.

Ohmigod. She did, didn't she? The safety was off. Then she glanced at the bodies. The men, Hernandez and Smith, were staring back at her with glazed over eyes. Blood was pooling around their bodies.

_They were shot in the chest. _

_ **I'm a great shot, aren't I?**_

****

****"What did you DO?!" Zoë screamed wildly, clutching her head, repeating, "What did you do?!"

Mort ran down the stairs, still in shock, to embrace his sobbing lover. He had heard the struggle, and when he ran to the stairs to help her, he watched in horror as she had shot the two men and actually smiled. Smiled and then blew him a kiss. And that's when Zoë had fallen to the floor in hysterics.

"Shhh, Zoë," he whispered, cradling her head to his chest, holding her tight in his arms, "It's fine. It's over. Everything's all right."

"I bet they had children, wives," she croaked out between sobs, "They had family. And I killed them."

"It was Ellie, wasn't it?" Mort murmured into her hair. He was scared as hell himself, but he wouldn't let her know that little fact.

"It doesn't matter. It was my fucking finger that pulled the fucking trigger," she said hysterically, shaking in his hold, "It was me." Mort ran a hand down her face and pressed feather-light kisses to her eyelids, cheeks, and mouth, trying to calm her.

"And you want to know the funny thing about it? I liked it. A part of me liked killing them," she murmured before accepting Mort's lips on hers.

Mort softly pulled her up in his arms to get her feet away from the puddle of blood that had been slowly creeping towards her shoes.

"We have to get out of here," he pointed out, "More police will be on the way, I don't doubt that for a second."

"Thanks for not deserting me," Zoë whispered, her fingers clutching his sweater like she was holding on for dear life.

"I wouldn't desert you, Zoë. Remember that."

"Consider it remembered." And she weakly smiled as he hoisted her to her feet.

"Next stop, your place," Mort reassured her, "And then we'll be out of here, okay? For good."

"What about the bodies?" Zoë said hoarsely, "We can't just leave them there."

Mort and Zoë gazed at each other before glancing down at the pale bodies. They needed a plan.

-----------------

Ten minutes later, Mort and Zoë had finished sinking the bodies to the bottom of the lake next to the cabin. It was a bad hiding place, but it would have to do considering time was running out for them both.

Zoë jumped into the passenger's side of Mort's SUV and buckled in while Mort threw the last suitcase into the back. He hurriedly buckled in, started the car, and flew onto the main road with lightning speed.

They sat in silence the first ten minutes of their trip. Zoë could still feel the bile rising in her throat as she desperately tried not to think of the crimes she had just committed. She was a murderer. She was officially a first class loony.

**_And you should be proud of it, too. Now stop acting like a baby and be proud of what you've done. It shows guts. _**

****

****_No, it shows insanity. It shows that I have a one-way ticket to Hell._

_ **You're such a pessimist. **_

****

****Zoë closed her eyes and rested her hand on the seat as she held her head with the other. Ellie was giving her a migraine. But where would Mort and her go? What would they do? After this, they'll never be safe again.

She jumped as something touched her, but relaxed when she glanced at Mort. He was concentrating on the road in front of them, and he had gently laid one hand on hers.

**_Aw, he's such a considerate hunk. Tell him to pull over so you can give him a quickie. _**

****

****_You're sick. _

Zoë swallowed and said, "It shouldn't be long."

"Not at all. Don't be nervous. You sure as hell look like you are."

"I have a reason to be. Everyone's after us. We're running out of time and fast."

"We'll get out of here, don't worry, Zoë. Just trust me." He glanced at her, his beautiful brown eyes taking her in, "We can do this."

Of course she trusted him. She was falling in love with the man, after all.

**_Finally, you admit it to yourself!_**

****

****_Yes. Happy? I love Mort Rainey._

_ **Now tell him. He will be super pleased.**_

****

****_Later.__ Much later. _

The SUV came to a screeching halt at the back entrance of her apartment complex. Mort and Zoë jumped out and she quickly searched through her purse for the key as they ran inside. Someone would surely recognize them. It was only a matter of time before someone did.

Fortunately, the hallways were empty as they reached Zo's apartment except for the one older woman they almost ran into on their way up the stairs. She had given them a suspicious look, shrugged them off, and continued on her way.

Zoë fumbled with the key, cursing under her breath as she jiggled the doorknob. Mort's fingers rested over hers and he helped her turn it. The door clicked open.

Zoë laughed and said, "Can you tell I'm not used to being chased?"

"You just need practice, is all," Mort replied with a grin, following her inside. He shut the door and locked it behind him.

"It won't take me long," Zoë said quietly, "I only need a few things…"

"We have time," Mort said, touching the side of her face, "This stuff means a lot to you. I wouldn't want you accidentally leaving something behind just because you're in a hurry."

"What would I do without you?" she questioned cheekily, taking a step closer to him.

"You'd live a pretty dull life, I'll tell you that much," Mort answered, wiggling his eyebrows at her before wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Well, I have Ellie. She can provide me excitement," Zoë teased, "What else are you good for, hmm? Why should I keep you around?"

**_Oh! I know! Pick me, pick me! _**

****

****"I have a pretty good idea," Mort murmured before pressing her against the kitchen wall and crushing his lips onto hers.

"Ahem."

They froze and Mort slowly extracted his tongue from her mouth. Oh no. Zoë knew that voice.

Zoë took a step away from Mort to glance at the man sitting on the couch, watching them with hateful eyes.

She croaked, "Timothy…how…" but was interrupted by him.

"I knew it."

------------------------

Getting caught swapping spit with a murderer isn't good. Not good at all! Review please! ; )


	13. Face to Face

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from _Secret Window, __Secret__Garden_. Unfortunately. But a gal can dream, can't she?

**Author's Note:** Yup. Zoë killed two men. Well, actually it was Ellie, but it was her just the same. I want to thank my friend Katie for helping me out with this story…it's been fun discussing it with you, gal! My fellow Johnny Depp obsessor, mwahaha! This chapter IS THE LAST ONE! Eek! sob You guys are awesome. I can't wait until June 22nd for the DVD to come out. I just don't like how right when I finish this fic, the DVD is going to come out and I'll get the urge to write another _Secret Window_ fic all over again, I bet you. I want to thank you guys for reading and reviewing. _Writer's Block_ is dedicated to all you guys. Because you rock my socks. Seriously. Happy reading, and good luck writing!

PineAppleLint

----------------------

-"I knew it."-

Mort wrapped his arm tightly around Zo's hips before saying, "It's nice to see you again, Timothy, but now's not a good time for a social call."

"I knew you'd go through with it, Agent Oltie," Timothy replied seriously, "I'm glad you finally agreed to this. The Bureau will be pleased."

_Agree with what? What the hell is he talking about?_

_ **I'm getting a bad feeling about this. He's fucking around with you guys, big time. **_

****

****"Wh-what?" Zoë stammered. Mort was staring at Timothy in confusion.

"Bringing Mort down here! It was a good idea," Timothy said enthusiastically with a charming smile, "Now we can bring him in for questioning."

Mort's eyes widened, finally realizing what Timothy was implying. "She wouldn't…" he whispered, turning to Zoë, "You wouldn't."

"Timothy, what the fuck are you talking about? I'm fired, remember?" she said, her voice wavering. She was trying to act tough but she sure didn't sound like she was.

"C'mon, Mort, let's go downtown, buddy," Timothy coaxed, "We've got some questions to ask you." And then he extended his hand, adding, "Zoë, it's okay now. I can handle this."

Mort took a step away from both of them, eyes wild. "Zoë?" he said softly, "Did you lead me on? Did you _lie to me_?!"

"No!" Zoë cried, then turned to Timothy, "What are you trying to do, T? You know I'm with Mort now. I abandoned this case a long time ago!"

"Mort Rainey, just stay still," Timothy demanded, "We have a couple cops on the way and I don't want trouble."

But Mort didn't listen…he took another shaky step backwards. He let out a strangled gasp and said, "It can't be true. Zoë, tell me he's lying."

"He is…Mort, why don't you believe me? I wouldn't do this to you!"

"You could have lied about being fired…you wanted to come here, you may have wanted me to get caught," Mort shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"But I killed for you," Zoë whispered back, standing completely still, "We said we wouldn't desert each other."

Timothy's expression turned to one of shock when he heard those words escape her lips. He reached for his gun and pointed it at Mort, who was still backing towards the door.

"Stay still, Mr. Rainey!" he said calmly, angrily, "I won't remind you again."

Zoë hysterically placed her body between them, staying in front of Mort with her arms crossed. "Don't, Timothy. Just don't." And suddenly the voice she heard behind her made her blood run cold.

"Don't worry, missus," Mort drawled, "I don't need protection from this stupid pilgrim. Don't you fret none."

_Oh God. Shooter was back. _

Timothy hissed, "Don't do this to yourself, Zoë. Get out of the way, dammit."

"That's no way to talk to the purty lady," 'Shooter' said in amusement, placing his hand on Zo's shoulder, "Now apologize before things get messy."

"I'm not apologizing," T said through clenched teeth, "Now get away from him, Zoë!"

Zoë turned to Mort and said hastily, "Shooter, don't do anything drastic. He has the gun, after all."

"It's a cryin' shame that you had to lie to Mort like that. Now our deal's off. It's good to be back, darlin'."

"But I didn't lie to Mort!" she cried, "Timothy's making up all of this shit!"

"Mort may believe some part o' your sad story, but I don't. Not by a long shot. Now if you'll kindly move aside, missus. I swears I won't hurt you until I kill the man." And with that he nodded towards Timothy.

"One step closer and I'll shoot!" Timothy yelled, sweat dripping from his brow, "Stay back!"

"A couple moments ago you were orderin' me to stop inchin' away," 'Shooter' chuckled menacingly, "Make up your goddamn mind." And after pushing Zoë out of the way, he began to slowly walk towards T, grinning cruelly.

"Zoë, I'll kill him," Timothy said, his voice wavering, "I won't hesitate to do so." And he unlocked the safety.

**_There's only one way to end this, babycakes. And it's going to end now. _**

****

****She felt weird. Odd. She felt almost like she did when she was at Mort's house…with the police officers….

_Oh shit._

_ **Move over, bitches, I'm ready to party!**_

****

****"Not yet," she whispered, "Not yet."

**_All right, sweetie. I'll give you a couple minutes. After that, he's mine._**

****

****Pulling the gun from her belt, Zoë said quietly, "Don't make me shoot you, Timothy."

Timothy had his gun on Mort, watching him, fear written all over his face. He slowly tensed his hand, pulling slightly on the trigger as 'Shooter' reached out to him.

She fired.

She winced from the loud bang it produced and watched in horror as Timothy dropped his own gun, stared at her in shock, and slumped over onto the carpet. The bullet had intercepted his stomach.

She crawled over to where Timothy lay, staring as he started choking on air, the blood beginning to stain his blue-collared work business shirt. He gaped at Zoë.

"Zoë…why?"

"I love him, Timothy. You would have killed him if I haven't intervened."

"No…"

Tears were streaming down her face as she took her old friend's hand and held it to her cheek, "Yes, you would have. Don't deny it. And you made up those awful lies…"

"You were screwing up your life with that man, Zoë. I couldn't let you do it…"

Suddenly, he watched in terror as her face changed and she grinned, pressing her lips to his hand seductively. "I hope you enjoy death, you son of a bitch."

"Zoë?"

"It's Ellie, baby. Ellie. It's sad that a man like you has to die like this. You're a fine specimen." She ran a finger down his collar and laughed. His eyes glazed over and all the life left his body. Timothy was dead.

Ellie stared down at the pitiful body, a fresh smirk still on her lips. A warm hand rested on her shoulder and she glanced up.

"Thanks for all the help, missus. You sure are one hell of a shot." Shooter took her hand and helped her up off of the carpet.

"Why, aren't you the gentleman?" she teased, raising an eyebrow as she slid her arms around his neck, "I bet you aren't such a gentleman in bed."

He laughed, clearly pleased by her retort. "I would like to give you a try, darlin', but we better get out o' here."

"But of course," she replied, linking her arm in his. She yanked his head down to hers and their lips feasted off of each other, molding, probing without mercy.

"Ouch," he muttered, pulling back from her. He touched his bottom lip with his finger. She had bit it in the midst of her passionate torture.

"Crazy bitch," he said with a smile, pulling her roughly against him.

"What can I say? Southern men have always been my favorite toys. I just seem to get a bit carried away with them." She then promptly licked the blood off of his bleeding lip with her tongue, smiling impishly up at him.

"Ellie, you're going to drive me crazy," he said huskily through his thick southern accent, "Christ…"

"I would say the same about you, but the fact of the matter is…we already are."

He chuckled, utterly enchanted by her. They both stepped over the rigid body, walking arm and arm back to the car, deliciously planning how they would make their get-away far far away from Tashmore Lake.

And from that moment on they didn't bother to dwell in the past. All they cared about was the future and how they would spend it together, no matter who would go after them, no matter who tried to uncover their secrets. After all, who'd want to purposefully cross paths with Shooter and Ellie?

Whoever dared to dream would have to be completely and utterly insane.

The End


End file.
